


no end in sight

by QuickYoke



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Recovery, Slow Burn, Trauma, World of Warcraft: Legion, this is a blatant excuse for me to give Jaina sweet Nightborne tattoos don't @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-01-12 16:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/pseuds/QuickYoke
Summary: Jaina goes to Suramar seeking aid after leaving the Kirin Tor.  An AU exploring the events post-Theramore and Jaina's recovery during Legion.





	1. Chapter 1

_ “I will scrub these hands raw. I will tremble at what they could not prevent.” _

_ — Elizabeth Acevedo, “Spear” _

 

* * *

* * *

The mouth of the cave was draped with lilac-tinged ivy. A pool of water floated with flowering lily pads beside an old altar, sheltered from the elements by pale marble darkened by time and weather. The sun drifted behind a haze of clouds so that the land was awash in a perennial dusk. Jaina tightened her grip upon her staff, and a crackle of wild mana leapt beneath her hand. She was unconvinced by the idyllic scene. Apparently her body felt the same.

“I did not think you would actually come.”

A voice, soft and cultured, spoke from beyond the depths of the cave. In the darkness, Jaina could just make out twin spots of light like purpled stars peering through the night. They blinked, slowly, consideringly.

Jaina lifted her chin and glared back at the eyes watching her. “Khadgar arranged the visit, and I said I would humour him. Nothing more.”

A thoughtful hum was her reply. “And because your friends in the Kirin Tor were unable to cure your particular condition.”

Again, that flare of uncontrollable mana; it flooded beneath Jaina's skin, lingering surface-deep. She shuddered and grit her teeth, tamping the surge of power down even as it clawed at her from within.

Those eyes tilted, as though their owner had cocked their head to one side. “I'm amazed the manasabers haven't swarmed you yet. I can smell you from here.”

“They did,” Jaina growled. Whole packs of them, roaming the lands from Azsuna to Shal'Aran, had hounded her every step. Until they actually found her. Then, they didn't hound anything ever again.

“Ah. You had best come in, on that basis. Nothing will trouble you in the shelter Shal'Aran, I assure you.”

Jaina did not move. “You expect me to walk right into your den, when you refuse to even show yourself to me? Do you think me a fool?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then: “Very well.”

The figure emerged from the cave, stooping beneath a veil of ivy vines before straightening to her full height. She was tall, like all her race, but unlike the other Nightborne Jaina had encountered in the past, First Arcanist Thalyssra was gaunt. Shadows clung to the sunken skin of her cheeks and ribs. She was a figure carved all from withered bone. Her face was partially obscured by a deep cowl, but nothing could hide the shine of hunger in her eyes.

The First Arcanist clasped her hands calmly before her. The gesture, combined with her appearance, made her seem like a wild animal pantomiming gentility. “Will you accept my invitation and come inside, Lady Proudmoore?”

Pursing her lips, Jaina nonetheless slung her staff across her back and stepped forward. “Lead the way.”

The First Arcanist held out a hand towards the cave as Jaina approached. Her other hand reached up to touch Jaina's shoulder and guide her inside. Immediately, the mana swelled up in Jaina's chest, inevitable as the tides.

Jaina shrugged her arm free. “Don’t touch me.”

The First Arcanist released her immediately and inclined her head in a respectful gesture. “Apologies. I will need your permission to touch you later, of course.”

Gritting her teeth, Jaina nodded. Together, they began their descent. The ground sloped beneath their feet, twisting wide and leading them deeper into the cave. The ceiling opened up into a broad domed structure over a circular room that reminded Jaina of Stormwind’s Cathedral of Light, fallen into disrepair and darkened in the twilight hours. Small signs of living were scattered all around the ruin: rich-hued rugs stretching across the cold stone floors, elaborately carved screens partitioning off sections of the wings from prying eyes, lantern-light casting their dim amber glow across the walls. 

For all that, it was a space cold and ancient with disuse. Motes of dust glittered in the air. Jaina could taste the faint traces of mossy stone upon the air. As the First Arcanist led her round the room, Jaina peered down the steep stairwell leading to a cavernous room far below. In the darkness she could faintly see another figure moving about, movements sleek and vaguely predatory: another withered Nightborne. 

“This way, please, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina jerked her head up to find the First Arcanist gesturing towards one of the partitioned spaces behind a screen. She waited for Jaina to pass, then dragged the screen shut behind them, enclosing them together, alone. A mat was spread on the floor alongside various pillows. There were even a few books stacked neatly beside the mat, their pages carefully marked with strips of dusky velvet.

The First Arcanist pointed to a raised altar-like slab of stone draped with pale lavender cloth. “Would you please disrobe? You may keep your small clothes on, but I will need to inspect you.”

For a moment Jaina hesitated. She had to force her fists to unclench. With jerky movements she balanced her staff against the small altar and began to tug at the clasps of her outfit. The First Arcanist did not turn away while Jaina stripped, but neither did she stare. Her eyes were respectfully lowered until Jaina stepped out of her robes and tossed them across the altar. 

The First Arcanist held up a hand as if in the suggestion of touching her. “May I?”

The air of Shal'Aran was cool, but not uncomfortably so. The bare skin of Jaina's arms and shoulders prickled. The First Arcanist waited for Jaina's stiff nod of consent before reaching out to touch her. Those withered hands were surprisingly soft. The First Arcanist traced patterns with her fingertips across Jaina's shoulders, walking around to draw circles along her back. 

Every stroke lured a surge of mana to the surface of Jaina's skin. She shuddered against the sensation. White-hot glimmers of arcane energy seared with bluish afterimages, sharp as lightning, wherever the First Arcanist touched. Jaina closed her eyes so she would not have to see them, but still they flashed through the muffled dark. The mana seemed to gather in the pit of her stomach and boil there until she could taste it, until every breath flickered, until she panted blue cinders. 

Theramore was gone, but she was still burning.

_ “Stop, _ ” Jaina gasped. 

She flinched away, shoulders caving inwards. She clutched her arms to her chest, but the First Arcanist had already stepped away. Indeed, she had stopped touching Jaina the moment she was told to do so.

“You are -” the First Arcanist began to speak, picking over her words with great care and consideration.  _ “- oversaturated. _ Like cloth that has been soaked too long in dye. Or a focusing iris that had been overcharged, and is scattering pure arcane energy wherever it goes.”

“I am aware of the problem,” Jaina snapped. She fought back another efflux of energy, choking on the burnt aftertaste. With trembling hands, she reached for her clothes and began to dress herself once more. Her voice was not as harsh when she said, “Is there anything you can do?”

“I can help you,” the First Arcanist said slowly, then paused.

“But...?” Jaina supplied, suspicious of that pause.

“But I will need something from you in return.”

Jaina shrugged into her cloak, buckling it beneath her throat. “I expected nothing less. This is a transaction.”

“You must understand,” the First Arcanist spoke with a sincerity that grated, “were I in any other situation, I would be able to afford generosity.”

Jaina's lip curled. “I am not interested in your generosity. Name your price.”

“I have unearthed the location of an object I wish to be recovered.”

“Where is it?”

“To the northwest of here lie the ruins of Falanaar. In the tunnels beneath the temple of Elune, the object is guarded by a twisted Fal’dorei named Orathiss.”

“And if I do this?" Jaina pressed. "What exactly do you plan to do to help me?”

“I cannot cure you,” the First Arcanist said. “I do not know if anyone can.”

Jaina scowled. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak the First Arcanist raised her hands and said, “Your body will forever bear the havoc of Theramore, but I can stabilise you. Nothing more.”

That was more than Jaina had been able to accomplish so far, even with all the resources Khadgar and the Kirin Tor could offer. Not that they were on very friendly terms these days. “How?” she asked.

“With your permission, I will inscribe you with living leylines. It will take many weeks, and you must remain under my care during that time; I will need to check on you frequently to ensure your body does not reject the procedures.” The First Arcanist's face was difficult to read, and she spoke in a grave tone. “It will not be easy, and it will hurt, though I will do everything I can to lessen your discomfort.”

Any discomfort she was referring to couldn’t be worse than what Jaina felt now. Even the simple act of picking up her staff to sling it over her back sent a bristle of raw arcane energy lurching through her arm until the stone of her staff glowed. With a brisk nod, Jaina turned to leave. “I will return shortly.”

“Before you go -?” the First Arcanist began.

Jaina stopped and looked over her shoulder, waiting for her to continue.

The First Arcanist gestured towards the opposite side of the circular chamber. “My colleague was hoping to speak with you. I believe you two share similar interests that might be beneficial to your trip.”

Jaina could feel her brow furrowing, but she nodded nonetheless. The First Arcanist did not follow her as Jaina made her way around the chamber. Beyond the arched colonnade, another Nightborne was pacing the ambulatory. His clawed bare feet clicked against stone with every step. At Jaina’s approach, his head lifted like a hound scenting the air. He whirled around so suddenly, she reached instinctively over one shoulder for her staff.

Whereas the First Arcanist kept her face carefully neutral, this man allowed expressions to dance across his face with a charm and artistry that not even his withered state could tarnish. “Ah! Lady Proudmoore, is it? Excellent. Excellent! Chief Telemancer Oculeth, at your service.”

He bowed, placing a gnarled hand over his heart. Jaina did not return the gesture. His eyes unnerved her; they bore the same unslakeable hunger as the First Arcanist's.

“I was told you wanted to speak with me?” Jaina asked coolly.

He straightened. “Certainly! I’ve been informed you are an expert in portals, among other things.”

Jaina nodded. “I am.”

“Barbaric, really,” he waved a dismissive hand. His eyes widened at Jaina’s shocked expression and he made a placating gesture. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Lady Proudmoore. They have their uses, but nothing that can’t be accomplished by telemancy. Far safer than portals. Far quicker, too. More sensible in every regard.”

“Is there a point to all this?” Jaina asked. Her voice had dropped to a wintry note now. 

Oculeth must have noticed, for his smile faltered somewhat. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. I was hoping you might reopen the network at Falanaar while you were there. It’s a simple matter, really.”

“And why would I do that?” 

“Well,” Oculeth floundered under her unblinking stare. A flicker of mana sparked across her knuckles as she tightened her hands, and his gaze snapped to it. If anything, the hunger redoubled in his eyes. He licked his lips and took a surreptitious step back before his smile returned. “The moment you did, I could reopen the teleportation network. I could save you the return trip.”

“Or I could just portal back,” Jaina replied flatly. 

Oculeth looked horrified at the thought. “What if one of us happens to be standing right where you decide to tear open a rift in space and time?”

“Then I recommend you stand somewhere else.”

“Well, that’s -! That’s just -! Just -!” Oculeth sighed, and shook his head. “Very well. Just make sure you portal in over there, if you please.” He pointed towards a circular anchor point on the floor, one of many lining the walls. “I will ensure nobody enters that area.”

She turned to leave without another word, but stopped when he held something out to her. 

“Here,” he said.

Confused, she took it, turning it over in her hands. “What is it?”

He grinned. “A telemancy beacon. In case you change your mind.”

Rolling her eyes, Jaina strode away. She tucked the beacon into one of her bags nonetheless. Oculeth called out after her, “Good luck!”

 

* * *

The First Arcanist had failed to mention that the Fal’dorei were twisted spider abominations. Jaina had to find that out all on her own, when she wandered up to a cobweb-strung temple of Elune and was ambushed by enormous eight-legged creatures that once may have resembled elves, but which now only evoked revulsion. 

Hours after trudging through the tunnels deep beneath the temple, the hems of her robes heavy with splattered spider gore, Jaina finally emerged with her prize cradled under one arm. By then, night had well and truly fallen over the land. The bodies of fallen Fal’dorei lay in her wake; some of their many chitinous legs still twitched in their death throes. She hefted the weight of the object cradled in the crook of her elbow -- a large golden egg, perhaps? -- then paused. 

A raised circle was engraved on the stone floor of the temple’s atrium. Its stone was darker than its surroundings, and a tap of the end of her staff revealed it to be metal. At its centre lay an opening like an inlay absent its intended gemstone. 

Her head was beginning to throb in a tell-tale sign of over-exertion that had become far too familiar these last two years. With a sigh, Jaina placed the golden egg onto the ground and fished around in her bag for the telemancy beacon. 

“I knew your curiosity would get the better of you,” Oculeth’s voice sang out from the beacon, so suddenly she nearly dropped it.

Jaina scowled. “I’m tired, and I don’t feel like opening a portal after killing all these spiders,” she said by way of an excuse as she knelt down and set the beacon into place. 

“For a moment there I almost believed you,” Oculeth’s voice said. “Almost.”

“By the way, you could have told me the Fal’dorei were monstrous spider people,” she grumbled.

“And ruin such a capital surprise?”

She pushed the beacon down, but it got stuck. With a grunt, she gave it a twist, and it clicked. For a long moment nothing happened.

Jaina tapped at the beacon’s surface with one finger. “Don’t tell me after all this, it doesn’t even work.”

As if in answer, the beacon flared to life. A portal blinked and rotated into existence above the anchoring pad. Jaina gathered up her staff and the golden egg, but before she could step through the teleportation system, Oculeth’s voice spoke once more.

“I wouldn’t do that just yet.”

She paused, lowering her foot back to the ground. “What now?”

“Nothing overly important. Unless you count calibrating the network to accept your biological fingerprint in order to keep you from being ripped into a thousand thousand pieces and scattered across the space-time continuum. But other than that -”

“Are you always like this?” Jaina asked.

“Like what?” Oculeth replied, but before she could answer he continued. “Ah, there we go! You can come back now.”

She stepped through and emerged back in Shal’Aran once more. There, she was greeted by the sight of not just Oculeth, but the First Arcanist and the other nameless Nightborne she had spied in the lower levels of the ruins, a woman with long pale hair who still retained some of the sleek beauty from her previous life. A glance over the woman’s shoulder showed that Oculeth had indeed cordoned off the space he had pointed to before, stringing off a corner of the room with violet streamers and a sign that warned of a swift and grisly death to any that crossed the threshold.

“I didn’t realise I would have a full audience,” Jaina said dryly.

“You’re the most interesting thing to have happened to Shal’Aran in centuries,” the unnamed Nightborne remarked. “Which really isn’t saying much, to be honest. I’ve been driven out of my mind with boredom.”

_ And hunger _ , Jaina thought, but did not dare say aloud. 

The First Arcanist’s gaze was fixed on the object tucked safely beneath Jaina’s arm. “Is that it?”

Jaina held it out. “Yes. Here’s your...egg.”

“It’s a seed, actually,” Oculeth pointed out. “The seed of an arcan’dor.”

Eyes widening, Jaina stared at the seed. Jaina had only ever read of arcan’dor in the past -- mythical trees perfectly balanced between arcane and nature magics, able to bear fruit infused with pure energies drawn from the very leylines of the earth. Suddenly she felt she should not have been so careless with the seed while retrieving it from the tunnels of Falanaar. She distinctly remembered throwing it at a giant spider to buy her just enough time to cast a tricky spell. The spider had exploded, and she had been forced to clean all the gunk from the seed with the edge of her cloak. 

“Would you please take the seed and prepare it, Valtrois?” the First Arcanist said.

The other Nightborne woman reached out to take the seed from Jaina. She inspected it closely with a frown. “Is it...dented?”

Jaina shifted her feet uncomfortably. The First Arcanist noticed, and Jaina could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile, but all Thalyssra said was, “It has been in the possession of the Fal’dorei for a long time. No doubt it was not treated with the care it warrants.”

“Hmm,” Valtrois said. Nevertheless, she strode away with her prize without another glance in Jaina’s direction.

Jaina watched her go, unable to stifle the familiar urge of curiosity that itched at her. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Plant it,” the First Arcanist answered.

“What else does one do with a seed?” Oculeth added.

They had a good point. 

Another flash of mana flickered in the pit of Jaina’s stomach. She grimaced and rubbed at the pain growing behind her eyes. Two years ago, while Theramore still smouldered like a bed of coals, Jaina had tried expelling the mana that flooded her system in any way she could in the hopes that she could run herself ragged and dry until there was nothing left but a memory. Whatever strange effects the mana bomb left in its wake however, had extended well beyond so simple a solution. 

She could drain herself to the dregs of magic, and then the blinding headaches would come. And with them, shockwaves of energy as the well of mana within her replenished itself by draining any source it could find. 

As if from a distance, Jaina could hear the First Arcanist say softly, “You have pushed yourself too hard today. You should lie down.”

Jaina dragged a hand down her face and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Oculeth, have you set up a space for our guest during her visit?”

“Only the cosiest!” he replied with dutiful joviality. 

“Thank you,” the First Arcanist said, turning to walk away. She tilted her head for Jaina to follow.

Leaning heavily on her staff, Jaina trailed after her. The staff’s crystal would pulse with an intermittent glow in time with the pulsing of her growing headache. Still, she tightened her grip and kept her steps resolute as she allowed herself to be led to a far corner of the circular room, beyond a set of pillars and archways. The First Arcanist pulled back one of the screens and ushered Jaina inside.

A glance around informed Jaina that it was indeed a cosy space. Small, but more than suitable. It was nearly identical to the partitioned area where the First Arcanist had inspected her earlier that day, but for the fact that the mat had been spread with a dark green cloth. Whether this was purely for aesthetic reasons, or whether it was meant to harken back to Jaina’s Kul Tiran heritage, she did not know. Nor did she particularly care at this moment.

Jaina balanced her staff against the wall, and reached up to unhook the clasp that held her cloak together. She shot a scowl over her shoulder at the First Arcanist, who lingered at the threshold as if waiting for something.

“Is there something you want? Some other task you require of me?” Jaina asked, unable to keep an irritable hiss from her voice. She shrugged off her bags and tossed them into an empty corner. 

The First Arcanist clasped her hands before her once more in that manner of poised gentility. Once it must have seemed effortless, but now it appeared feigned -- a mask donned to cover something raw beneath. “Not presently.”

“Then why are you still here?” Jaina began unlacing the front of her mage robes. To hell with decency; it wasn’t anything Thalyssra hadn’t seen just earlier that day, anyway. 

“I had hoped to ask you a few questions.”

“Can it wait?” Jaina asked pointedly. 

The First Arcanist remained silent for a moment. She studied Jaina with a quiet, intense gaze, before saying, “You have come to seek my help, yet you do not trust me or mine. I fail to understand why.”

Jaina arched a cool eyebrow. “I trust you enough to carve leylines into my skin. Is that not enough?”

“Only because you believe a transaction justifies my actions, like I am some sort of cornerstreet medic, whose services are sought by those who have nothing else to lose.” When Jaina opened her mouth to protest, the First Arcanist waved her excuses away. “Don’t bother denying it. I saw how you leapt at the thought of a trade. Are you so incapable of accepting another’s kindness?”

Perhaps it was the headache. Perhaps she really had pushed herself too much lately. Something ugly and far too recognisable stirred in Jaina’s gut, slithering like a scaled thing through her ribcage. Her expression darkened, and she could feel the sparks of mana overflowing from her fingertips despite herself. “I know about your little rebellion. I know you are courting the Horde. I know your discussions with the Alliance are a farce.”

Rather than deny it, the First Arcanist hummed a neutral note. “Nobody exists in a vacuum, Lady Proudmoore. Our decisions are influenced by our situations, our environments, by the people in our lives. All we can do is what we believe necessary. For the wellbeing and survival of my people, I will do what I must.”

“Garrosh Hellscream is still warm in his grave, and you think joining the Horde will grant you peace?” Jaina laughed, a harsh, incredulous sound. “May the Light help you, First Arcanist. You’ll need it.”

“Their new Warchief, by all accounts, is a good and honourable man. One who was instrumental in tearing down Garrosh from within,” the First Arcanist replied calmly. 

Jaina sneered. With jerky movements, she tugged her robes free and stepped out of them until she stood wearing nothing but a shift and smallclothes. “Perhaps. But how long will he last? They change leaders like the seasons, and for the most spurious of reasons, too.”

For the first time, the First Arcanist’s expression hardened. “And what would you suggest I do? Kill them for offering to help me overthrow the shackles of my oppressors?”

Jaina flung her robes into the corner with weary disgust, and dropped heavily onto the mat on the ground. “Trade your old shackles for a shiny new set, for all I care. I’ll be gone soon enough; I doubt we will see each other after this is all said and done.”

The First Arcanist watched in silence as Jaina began to tug at the laces of her boots and chuck them over with the rest of her things. When Thalyssra spoke, her words held a hint of steel, “Perhaps that is for the best.”

Jaina grunted in wordless agreement. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, and rubbed until she saw whirling patterns of light. She waited for the sound of the First Arcanist’s footsteps, hoping that she would be left to sleep in peace even as she knew any sleep would be fitful at best -- just as it had been since Theramore. 

Instead, Thalyssra waited before saying, “I’m afraid you’re going to have a long night ahead of you.”

Peering up from her hands, Jaina narrowed her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The First Arcanist cocked her head. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“A light lunch before I arrived at Shal'Aran. And you didn’t answer my question.”

In answer, the First Arcanist handed her a small glass vial. It was filled with a viscous liquid that warmed the glass to the touch. “You will need to drink this. It will purge you during the night in preparation for the procedures tomorrow. I am sorry. It will be uncomfortable.”

With a sigh, Jaina rubbed at her brow with one hand. She held out her other and felt the First Arcanist drop the vial into her palm, careful that their skin did not actually touch. 

“There’s a bucket in the corner for you. You will need it. Try to get some rest while you can,” the First Arcanist murmured. “I will find you in the morning.”

And with that she left, dragging the screen shut. 

The screens did little to shelter the space from any lantern-light. Jaina cast a glance at the bucket in question. It was perched within arm’s reach, ready for use. Beside it was a pitcher of water and a goblet. She grimaced. At least she wouldn’t be dehydrated come morning. Unless the Nightborne had already decided she wasn’t worth the trouble, and given her something far more sinister than a potion of purging. Then, dehydration would be the least of her problems.

Jaina turned the vial between her fingers, studying the way the liquid inside clung to the surface of the glass, dark as unwatered wine but twice as thick. She unstoppered the vial and did not care to check its contents before draining it in one smooth motion. The moment she drank it, her stomach began to turn. Fighting back a shudder, Jaina set the vial aside and crawled beneath the blanket. Already, she could feel the acidic burn of mana rebelling against the potion. 

Her hands tightened into fists around the blanket, and she curled in upon herself. It was going to be a long night. 


	2. Chapter 2

> _ “Summer after summer has ended, _
> 
> _ balm after violence: _
> 
> _ it does me no good _
> 
> _ to be good to me now; _
> 
> _ violence has changed me.” _
> 
> _      -Louise Gluck, ‘Averno’ _

 

* * *

* * *

When Jaina awoke the next morning, bleary from so few hours of sleep, it was to find her clothes had been cleaned and folded neatly over the ornate screen. She squinted at them and rubbed at her eyes. She was slow to rise from the mat that served as her bed. Her stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch, but nothing like it had last night, when it had rejected any measure of food or water she had dared to eat the day before, and then some. The bucket had also been emptied sometime during the early morning hours, when she had finally managed to sleep. 

Sitting up, she reached for the last of the water in the goblet. She sipped, paused, and swallowed down the urge to dry heave. Then she took another sip. Jaina waited for her stomach to settle before placing the goblet aside and pushing herself to her feet. She dressed slowly, pausing every now and then to pinch the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stifle the headache still lingering at the front and centre of her skull. She grabbed her staff before leaving the confines of her partition. 

Jaina emerged into the large circular room, peering around for any sign of the others. Her gaze lingered on the seed of the arcan’dor, which had been carefully balanced beneath the central dome. Oculeth’s side of the room was conspicuously empty. She heard the murmur of voices echoing from the floor below, but his distinctive timbre was not among them. Jaina did not bother muffling her footsteps or the click of her staff against the stone floors as she descended the stairs. 

Valtrois and the First Arcanist stopped talking the moment Jaina came within earshot. The First Arcanist, whose back was to the stairs, turned, one of her long ears twitching at the clack of Jaina’s staff. “You’re awake. How did you sleep?”

“Poorly,” Jaina replied. She came to a halt a comfortable distance away from them. She had not bothered to put her shoes on, wearing only a pair of socks that gathered dust wherever she walked. The others did not wear footwear at all.

The First Arcanist hummed. “I suspected as much.”

Jaina’s stomach gave a particularly noisy grumble, which she was sure the others must have heard even a few paces away, though their faces gave away nothing. “When am I allowed to eat again?”

“You will need to wait a few hours after the procedure,” the First Arcanist answered. “Oculeth has just gone to replenish our stocks of normal food.”

“Unless you would prefer arcwine,” Valtrois added in a sarcastic tone. 

“I’ve never had it,” Jaina countered.

Valtrois shot her an exasperated look. “That was a joke.”

In response, Jaina rolled her eyes. “I know.” She turned to Thalyssra. “Can we start, already?”

The First Arcanist clasped her hands together. “You are very eager to be very uncomfortable, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Trust me, I’ve been more than uncomfortable for two years. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

Lowering her voice, Valtrois murmured something to the First Arcanist. Thalyssra replied in a similar tone. It sounded like Darnassian -- a language that had never been one of Jaina’s strong suits to begin with -- but more fluid, somehow sombre. And Darnassian was not a language she generally associated with light and airy. 

“Is there something you would like to say to me?” Jaina asked coldly.

Valtrois straightened, looking not the least bit chagrined. Meanwhile the First Arcanist inclined her head. “My apologies. Valtrois was just expressing her incredulity that I had failed to adequately inform you that this will not be a single procedure. For that, I do accept responsibility. I had meant to tell you this morning, after I checked in on you.”

Jaina's mouth went dry. “How many?”

The two Nightborne exchanged a wordless glance, before the First Arcanist answered, “Six.”

Jaina tightened her grip upon her staff. The crystal flared to life. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath to calm the skitter of mana down her spine. Her headache pulsed and she resisted the urge to rub at her temples.

“I am sorry that this is not what you expected,” the First Arcanist continued, and her voice was so sincere Jaina's jaw clenched. “I wish I could offer you a simple solution, but this is not a simple problem.”

Clearing her throat, Jaina asked, “When you said that this would take a few weeks -?”

“One inscription every two weeks,” Valtrois said, holding up her fingers for emphasis. 

Seeing the outrage clearly written across Jaina’s face, the First Arcanist said, “Anything more would be too dangerous.

Jaina jerked her head towards Valtrois. “And her? What is her role in all of this?”

Thalyssra gestured towards her colleague. “I have asked Arcanist Valtrois to aid me in today’s initial procedure. Is this alright?”

“Are you incapable of performing the procedures yourself?”

Valtrois seemed to find that funny, for she gave Jaina a thin smile. The First Arcanist meanwhile only replied, “I am perfectly capable, but I do not wish to entertain the possibility of any oversights. Valtrois specialises in leylines. She will ensure we proceed with all due diligence.”

“Don’t worry,” Valtrois drawled. “You’ll not have to exhaust yourself with my presence for long. I have other projects to occupy my time.”

The First Arcanist shot her colleague an exasperated glance. “By that, she means she was all but skipping with excitement at the thought of experimenting with leyline inscriptions on a living being when I informed her of the idea this morning.”

Valtrois sniffed. “I do not  _ ‘skip.’” _

“I’m so thrilled I could be your guinea pig,” Jaina said in a flat tone. When Valtrois did not even have the decency to seem abashed, Jaina sighed. She rubbed at the dark circles beneath her eyes and said, “Fine. She can stay to help. Just for the first one?”

“Just for the first one,” Thalyssra confirmed. 

When Valtrois opened her mouth to protest, the First Arcanist shot her an inscrutable look. Stymied, Valtrois simply shrugged in acceptance. 

Jaina eyed them, her own expression guarded. “Shall we, then?”

With a nod, the First Arcanist walked towards a doorway that led deeper into the underground complex of Shal’Aran. The scent of damp and cool stone grew stronger as the three of them descended another level. Here, the very walls were aglow with a muted violet light that wove complex patterns across stone. Ancient tapestries hung threadbare from the ceiling; they drifted silkily when Jaina brushed by one. 

They led her into a large chamber directly beneath the one above, its twin in every regard but for the fact that the center had no stairwell that descended further into the complex. The floor here was a spiderweb network of leylines that all connected in a spiral formation that seemed to converge directly beneath the arcan’dor seed two floors above them. Despite the fact that this level was completely empty save themselves, an area had been sectioned off by screens.

As they walked over to the partition, Jaina stepped on one of the leylines. It flared beneath her. She was illuminated from below, and energy shot up from the sole of her foot to the crown of her head. Mana scoured her, and with a hiss Jaina jerked back. Her hands were trailing with pale smoke, as was the tip of her staff. She had to pat her hands along her robes to get them to stop, and bluish sparks leapt from her as though a hammer had struck an anvil. 

The two elves had stopped at the screens. They watched as Jaina carefully picked her way across the floor so as not to tread on any other leylines. When Jaina reached them, Valtrois inhaled sharply.

Jaina paused. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” the First Arcanist said, though she was watching her colleague with an odd expression.

On the other hand, Valtrois’ face had become an implacable mask. Her eyes were fixed upon the small jolts of mana still escaping from Jaina’s hands, her gaze unblinking. For a moment she said nothing, then she seemed to shake herself from some deep reverie. 

“It’s nothing,” Valtrois insisted, though her voice sounded taut. 

Jaina didn’t believe her in the slightest. Still, all Valtrois did was motion for Jaina to enter the partition; she kept a not so discreet distance as Jaina passed by her, and seemed to be holding her breath all the while. Jaina swept by as quickly as possible.

Atop a rug, a low wooden table had been erected, furnished with a sleeping mat and cushion. Larger cushions were strewn directly on the ground. The First Arcanist had already moved around the table and seated herself on a cushion on the ground, crossing her legs elegantly beneath her and pulling out a bulky bundle of cloth from under the table. 

Jaina remained standing even as Valtrois crossed over to the table and sat opposite Thalyssra, who unrolled the cloth to reveal what she would be using to score Jaina’s skin. There was no great array of wicked looking tools -- just a heavy stone disk made of riverslate, and a single, long, copper-tipped needle crafted from bone. Beside these, she placed a vial of ink that gleamed like liquid moonlight. Jaina eyed the tools sidelong as she set down her staff, unfastened her mage robes, and began to slide them down her shoulders. 

“You don’t need to disrobe fully,” Thalyssra said without looking at her. “We only need to get at your back today.”

“Your lower back,” Valtrois clarified. Unlike her colleague, she did not avert her gaze. Instead she studied Jaina openly, leaning her elbow casually on the table. When Jaina glared back at her, Valtrois simply patted the cushion atop the table. “Hop on, won’t you?”

Jaina did not ‘hop on’ but she did clamber. Rather gracelessly, her knee slipping against the lower half of her robes as she tried to position herself atop the mat. Neither of the others said anything, though Thalyssra did surreptitiously pull back her tools and inkwell so that they would not get knocked off the table. Once Jaina was lying on her stomach, her arms circled around the cushion and her chin propped on her hands, Thalyssra tugged Jaina’s robes further down her back until they were settled along the swell of her hips. 

One of Thalyssra’s fingers traced the base of Jaina’s spine, making her shiver. “We’ll need to start here.” 

“No, no. Here.” Valtrois poked two vertebrae higher. “The nexus needs to be focused as near the exact centre of her body as possible. Once we have created an anchor point, everything else should become easy.” There was a pause, after which she added. “Well...  _ easier _ , in any case.”

Jaina swallowed and shifted against the table. The muscles of her shoulders and jaw were tense, as if waiting for an incoming blow that she could see but not prevent.

The First Arcanist’s hands were cool and soothing against Jaina’s back. She moved one hand up to gently clasp Jaina’s shoulder. “You need to relax.”

“You are about to slice me up with runic inscriptions, and you want me to relax?” Jaina’s grumble was muffled by the pillow.

“Yes,” said Valtrois.

“Great. I’ll get right on that.”

At that, Valtrois muttered something under her breath. The First Arcanist withdrew her hands and hissed a reply in Shalassian; there was a steely edge to her words. Whatever she said made Valtrois step away from the table. Jaina lifted her head with a frown of confusion to see Valtrois retreating to the other side of the screens, where her silhouette faded from sight.

Thalyssra glanced down at Jaina’s puzzled expression, then picked up the copper-tipped needle. It was long as her forearm and thick as a river reed with a slight curve. She turned it over in her hands. “She has gone to eat something. She won’t be long.”

Jaina said nothing in reply. She simply lowered her head back down to the pillow and waited. She remained tense. 

“We do have anaesthetics prepared, of a sort,” the First Arcanist assured her. Then, touching the end of the needle, she added. “The discomfort comes after.”

“Why do you keep calling it that?” Jaina mumbled into the cushion.  _ “‘Discomfort.’  _ Do you think I don’t know what you really mean?”

“Of course not,” the First Arcanist said softly.

“Then speak plainly, and stop treating me like I’m a child.”

Thalyssra set aside the needle, placing it back on its cloth wrappings. Jaina angled her head so she could just see the First Arcanist move from the corner of her eye. 

“All Nightborne have similar markings,” Thalyssra gestured to her own markings, dark on her skin, as if a light beneath had been extinguished, “but we do not inscribe them like this. They appear gradually, naturally. Different for every one of us, but usually similar across families, like the shape of one’s nose. They’re considered part of growing pains. They take years to fully form, as the Nightwell’s essence slowly imbues us with arcane energies, and -- eventually -- grounds us in it until it has become a very part of us. I only remember a vague discomfort throughout my youth, but this -” The First Arcanist mused. “What we are planning to do here will be a matter of weeks. And you are human. Your body will not react the same way. I would be remiss not to tell you that there is a high chance these procedures will fail utterly.”

“And by that you mean: these leylines may channel the mana into stronger currents, causing me to implode or something equally drastic?” Jaina finished for her. When Thalyssra stared at her in shock, Jaina shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just translating what you said.”

At that, Thalyssra let out a surprised huff of laughter. For a moment when she smiled, Jaina could almost see the woman Thalyssra must have been once. Gracious and urbane, with crinkles at the corners of her warm gaze. Now her skin was pulled taut over her high cheekbones, and her smile was all teeth. Very long, very sharp teeth.  

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Thalyssra said. “It would knock out a few walls, after all.”

“The place could use a bit of renovation, to be honest,” Jaina quipped.

“I shall keep that in mind.”

Just then, the screen pulled back and Valtrois entered the partition. As far as Jaina was aware, there was nobody else in Shal’Aran except for Oculeth, yet still Valtrois pulled the screen shut behind her to give them the illusion of privacy. 

Thalyssra said something to Valtrois in rapid Shalassian, her tone quizzical and her brow furrowed.

Valtrois ran a hand through her hair and lifted her chin to a haughty tilt. “Well enough,” she answered in Common. Her face looked fuller, less gaunt, and this time when she looked at Jaina her gaze did not linger with hunger like it had before. Indeed, she seemed far more indifferent and aloof to Jaina’s presence entirely.

“Are you ready?” Thalyssra asked Jaina. 

Jaina nodded and lowered her head once more. 

The First Arcanist gave Jaina’s shoulder one last comforting squeeze before removing her hand. For a long while, all Jaina heard was the liquid murmur of Shalassian as Thalyssra and Valtrois spoke in low tones. Jaina had her eyes closed, so the first cool touch of something against her skin made her twitch. 

“We are just marking in regular ink first where we will inscribe you,” Thalyssra explained. “You can relax.”

“Not likely,” Valtrois muttered under her breath. 

Rather than dispute that, Jaina huffed but said nothing. She remained as still as she was able, while the two elves dotted her lower back with the press of a quill’s nib, light enough to not pierce the skin. They wove the beginnings of a complex circular pattern, almost like a rune. Silently, Jaina tried to guess which one it resembled -- some aggregate involving elements of arcane, spirit, and shadow.

Then one of them -- Valtrois? -- whispered a spell, and suddenly Jaina’s lower back went cold.

“Can you feel this?” Thalyssra asked.

“Feel what?” Jaina replied.

“Perfect.”

There came the clink of metal against glass; Thalyssra tapped the end of the needle against the vial of ink. Jaina was half tempted to lift her head and try peering over her shoulder at what they were doing. Instead, she tightened her grip upon the pillow and kept resolutely still, eyes closed, breath trapped in her chest. 

A broad pressure against the top of her hips, as if one of them were holding her in place. She resisted the urge to squirm. Faintly, Jaina could feel a dull ache begin to form in the muscles at the base of her spine. The ache spread, sharpening slightly but forever remaining on the bleeding edge of pain realised. The sound of cloth shuffling. Then the clink of the copper-nibbed needle being dipped into a vial once more. 

The seconds ticked by into minutes. Jaina soon lost track of time as the ache began to throb. The mana was starting to seethe all along her back now, as if a living hive of insects were fuming atop her skin. 

“Breathe, Lady Proudmoore,” the First Arcanist reminded her. 

Jaina inhaled sharply; she could feel the mana enkindle in the bellows of her lungs. 

“Not like that!” Valtrois hissed. Jaina began to lift her head in confusion, but felt claws dig into her hips in a silent warning. “No, not you. Stay still. I was talking to Thalyssra.”

“It’s fine, Valtrois,” the First Arcanist said. Her voice was far too level, feigning at nonchalance. 

Valtrois began to speak in hushed and rapid Shalassian. When another echo of mana sweltered in Jaina’s stomach, Jaina grit out, “Speak Common, please. If something is going wrong, I would like to know what it is.”

For a moment, they said nothing. Then, Valtrois continued, “You need to work with as much symmetry as possible. Move to the left side.”

“If I had it your way, I would swap from side to side every other second and never finish at all,” Thalyssra retorted. She sounded more strained than irate.

“And if you had it your way, you would send her spiralling into an uncontrolled manastorm,” Valtrois snapped. “Try running an insurrection with that little problem on your hands.”

“That’s enough, Valtrois.”

“I know you pity the human, but you need to take your time doing this even if it means -”

“I said:  _ that’s enough,”  _ Thalyssra growled in a voice like cold iron.

Valtrois went quiet. She and Thalyssra did not speak, though Thalyssra did switch over to the left side of Jaina’s back and began making the same pattern in perfect symmetry. 

Rather than lessen, the drone of mana along Jaina’s back seemed to intensify the longer Thalyssra worked. Everywhere the needle touched was numb, and still Jaina clenched her hands into fists around the cushion. The seconds slipped together like so many grains of sand along desert slopes. Dimly she was aware of Thalyssra and Valtrois speaking again, but their voices sounded distant. 

Jaina did not realise her hands were shaking until she felt someone -- she couldn’t tell which one -- touch her white-knuckled grip. Her skin was feverish, and when Jaina drew in a deep shuddering breath she could feel the sweat dampening the hair at her temples. 

“Do you need us to stop for a moment?”

“We can’t stop! If we stop we risk -!”

“Have a care, Valtrois. Look at her.”

“I am looking at her. She looks terrible.”

“Thank you. That is very helpful.”

“I’m right, though.”

“Well, yes, but -”

“I can still hear you,” Jaina managed to rasp. 

“Would you prefer us to speak Shalassian?” Valtrois asked.

“No. Just -” Jaina swallowed thickly as a torrent of mana raced from the space between her shoulder blades and down every limb. “How much longer?”

A long pause followed that question. 

“A while,” the First Arcanist finally answered. 

Steadying herself with a deep breath, Jaina wiped at her brow with the back of her hand, which came away wet. Her palms were sweating as well. There came the tap of copper against glass, and the inscription continued. 

The seething was unceasing, the mana redoubling its efforts as it clawed against the underside of her skin. It started to flow along the same pattern the First Arcanist was slowly etching into her as if trapped by the inscription, only to escape in a torrent that flooded her anew. The world faded into a blur of white noise and sensation. Every perception of things exterior to Jaina narrowed until there was only the murmur of voices, the tap of the needle, the mana building in the cavity of her ribs, the mana-induced headache pounding, and then nothing.

“Lady Proudmoore?”

Someone was trying to jostle her awake. She furrowed her brow and mumbled something unintelligible in return.

_ “Jaina.” _

With great effort, Jaina opened her eyes. Even in the dim light of the underbelly of Shal’Aran, the light hurt her eyes; she squeezed them shut almost immediately. 

“Help me, Valtrois.”

Two pairs of hands hauled her upright. No matter how gentle they were trying to be, Jaina still had to stifle a groan behind grit teeth. Her feet dragged along the ground until she had the wherewithal to place one in front of the other. The headache was a blinding light behind her eyes now. She did not realise she had opened them again until she felt someone urge her to shut them once more. 

The next thing she knew, she was awaking with a jerk. She was back in her own partition upstairs. She had been carefully arranged to lie on her side. The blanket slipped down to her waist as Jaina tried to sit up, but she had to stop with a hiss. Her back was aflame. Tentatively, she reached around herself to touch it.

“I would advise against that.”

The First Arcanist was seated not an arm’s length away. She was leaning against one of the screens and reading a book. She glanced at Jaina over the top of the pages. “It will itch terribly. Please refrain from scratching.”

Jaina nodded and dragged a hand down her face. When she spoke her voice was slightly muffled. “How did it go?”

“We will have to see.” Thalyssra marked her page and set the book aside. “Would you like to eat something?”

Rather than answer, Jaina muzzily pushed herself to her feet. At some point, the others had removed her robes and left her in a shift and smallclothes. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Thalyssra stood the moment she had, but Jaina waved away her offer of help. Instead, Jaina pushed open one of the screens and stepped onto the first floor of Shal’Aran.

She had meant to try making it outside, perhaps to eat beside the altar ruins. She did not make it nearly that far. Breathing shallowly, Jaina stopped walking. She had only made it a quarter of the way around the circular room towards the exit.

“Here.”

Thalyssra had followed along behind her, carrying two cushions beneath one arm and a platter of food in her other hand. She dropped the cushions to the ground, and promptly sat down on one, arranging the platter of fruit and dark-grained bread on the stone floor so that they were facing the arcan’dor seed. Pursing her lips, Jaina nevertheless sat on the other cushion, lowering herself with a low grunt of pain. 

“Thank you,” Jaina said, reaching for a purple-skinned fruit she did not recognise. 

The first bite was a burst of heady sweetness. She devoured the rest, dragging the plate into her lap in order to eating quickly and without pause. Thalyssra let her eat in silence, watching with something like envy in her eyes. 

“How do you feel?”

Jaina shifted her shoulders. The mana was still thrumming beneath her skin just as it had since the destruction of Theramore, but now it seemed magnetically drawn to patterns along her back, like water caught by sandbars in a riptide. The headache, however, had been reduced to a dull prickling at the base of her skull. She grimaced and answered, “Uncomfortable.”

Thalyssra’s expression did not change a whit, but somehow she still had a smug air about her.

Jaina rolled her eyes. “You can say ‘I told you so.’”

“I am sure you are tired of hearing that, these days,” Thalyssra replied. Then she added, “And I would never be so gauche.”

Jaina gave a surprised snort of laughter at the expression of faux indignation on Thalyssra’s face. She placed the plate aside. With a sigh, she leaned back on her hands. “One procedure down. Ten more weeks to go.”

“It will pass in no time at all,” Thalyssra assured her. When Jaina leveled a flat stare at her, she lifted one shoulder in an elfin half shrug. “I see my ability to lie has not improved.”

“Must be hard to orchestrate a rebellion with that handicap.”

“I generally leave the outright deception to others.”

“Probably a wise move on your part.” The blanket began to slip from her shoulders, and Jaina straightened.

Thalyssra hummed an amused note in the back of her throat. “Forgive me for being so forward, but it is fascinating being in your company. To see glimpses of what you must have been like before -” she waved her hand in a vague, all-encompassing gesture, “- all of this.”

This is what her life’s story had been reduced to. A vague gesture. A vague phrase. A song sung by sailors treading the vasty deep. 

Jaina stiffened in terrible anticipation of where this conversation was inevitably headed. Her grip on the blanket tightened. “You don’t need to talk around it. You know the things I’ve done. Everyone does.”

“I had assumed many of them were overblown.”

“Not all of them. Not as much as I’d like.”

“And not all the stories are so terrible, you know. Besides, last I checked Orgrimmar still stands despite your best efforts.”

Jaina smiled, fierce yet self-deprecating. “Hardly my  _ ‘best’ _ efforts.”

“I’m sure that you had reasons at the time for your actions. It does not justify them, but -”

“No.” Jaina shook her head. “Stop. Please.”

Thalyssra appeared taken aback. Jaina had to look away. She couldn’t bear to meet that warm gaze. Drawing in a deep shuddering breath, she continued, “What I did at Dalaran -- the Sunreavers -- I had no justification. Oh, I have lies that I tell myself when I can’t sleep at night, but they’re not the reason.” She could feel Thalyssra’s eyes upon her, watchful and silent. “Everyday after Theramore, I struggled. I hurt. And then, suddenly it was too much, and I wanted them to hurt, too.” 

For a long moment, Thalyssra seemed to consider this. “I do not claim to fully understand the circumstances of how you came to be in this state, though I have heard the rumours just as anyone else might have,” she began. “I can have sympathy for your anger, but disagree with your actions.”

“How very magnanimous of you,” Jaina drawled.

Rather than be miffed by her response, Thalyssra bared her teeth in a smile. “Yes, I thought so.”

In spite of herself, Jaina laughed; it was a rueful sound. “Not many would give aid to me these days. I am honestly surprised you didn’t turn me away at the door.”

“I would not turn away one in need,” Thalyssra said. For all her withered appearance, her expression was genial, even gentle. It sent a familiar burning rising at the back of Jaina’s throat; she had to swallow and look away. 

“You shouldn’t pity me,” Jaina said. 

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

“Pitying you would mean underestimating you,” Thalyssra continued, “and that would be a mistake.”

Jaina shot her an appraising look from the corner of her eye, and found Thalyssra doing the same. “You think Valtrois underestimates me?” she asked, thinking back on Valtrois’ words during the procedure. 

“Valtrois is and always has been my brightest and most loyal pupil. I am inexpressibly proud of her.”

“But…?” Jaina prompted.

Thalyssra sighed. “But she is not absent her own shortcomings. She is proud, and right to be proud, but that pride can too easily turn to arrogance. She embodies everything excellent in our people, and everything potentially disastrous. As do we all, I suppose.”

“I’d say it was more than  _ ‘potentially disastrous,’” _ Jaina added with a gesture towards Shal’Aran’s exit. “Last I checked, the Legion were camped not a week’s walk from here.”

“And so they are.”

A silence fell, far more warm and companionable than Jaina had felt in far too long. Together, they watched the seed of the arcan’dor in the dimly lit cavern of Shal’Aran. Jaina pulled the blanket around herself more firmly, though she did not feel the slightest chill. The movement meant their shoulders accidentally brushed, and Jaina flinched away from the contact. 

Thalyssra on the other hand, pretended not to notice. She did not move, and it was only after a short while that she spoke. “If not for the way you looked, you could pass beneath the shieldward of Suramar without attracting any notice.”

Jaina’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, and she glanced at Thalyssra. “How so?”

Thalyssra kept her gaze fixed upon the arcan’dor seed, her expression partially obscured by the cloth of her deep hood. “It’s the way you smell. Like pure mana. Like the Nightwell. I doubt even the Legion’s hounds could tell the difference.”

Jaina made a face. “Are you saying I should take more frequent baths?”

At that, Thalyssra had to hide a chuckle of amusement. “I doubt that would help. Though you are welcome to take as many baths as you like, provided you do not take one until at least a full day after your latest procedure. I believe one of the first things Valtrois did when we arrived here was tap a leyline to heat a pool in the lower levels.”

Eyebrows rising, Jaina hummed. “Maybe she’s not so bad after all.” 

“She certainly has her priorities straight.” 

Though Thalyssra’s tone was light, she rubbed her thumb across her fingertips in a contemplative motion, studying her clawed and bony hands. 

Jaina nodded towards Thalyssra’s hands. “Is there anything that can be done? About your current state, I mean?”

Thalyssra straightened, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I am researching the answer to just that question. Until then, you must excuse us if there are days where we do not approach you in the weeks to come.”

Jaina leaned away from her slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You misunderstand.” Thalyssra tilted her head to look at Jaina fully now. “Because of your condition, there will be times when Oculeth, Valtrois, and I will -” she searched for the right phrasing before saying, “- struggle to be around you. Do not be alarmed if other Nightfallen arrive in Shal’Aran and shy from your presence. We can sense the aftereffects of Theramore on you. It haunts you like a bright shadow. Soon the rest of the world will be able to see it, too. And not just from this.” Thalyssra touched Jaina’s hair, bleached white from overexposure to the mana bomb but for a single streak of gold. “I hope that is something you have considered.”

Jaina did not tell her to stop touching her, but after a moment she did turn her head aside and immediately Thalyssra pulled back her hand. “People keep talking to me about Theramore like it’s over, but it’s not. It’s still happening.”

Thalyssra hummed a contemplative note. “Grief has a long memory.”

“If I’m lucky it will stop.”

With a puzzled glance in her direction, Thalyssra asked, “The memory?”

Jaina shook her head. “No. People thinking that it will ever be over.”

Thalyssra’s breath caught. Jaina looked up in confusion. Thalyssra’s eyes were wide, but she was not looking at Jaina; she was staring straight ahead. Frowning, Jaina followed the path of her gaze. She blinked. The seed of the arcan’dor had sprouted with a single, frail, lilac frond that tentatively poked through one side of the golden casing. Together in the quiet dark of Shal'Aran they watched as the arcan'dor first bloomed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we finally have a plot, lads. Maybe. idk


	3. Chapter 3

_“Her grief’s just born–not yet half-grown.”_

_-Euripides, Medea (trans. Philip Vellacott)_

 

* * *

* * *

“My brooding friend, dare I say: you look bored.”

Peering around the line of her hood, Jaina raised an eyebrow at Oculeth. She was sitting by the pond just outside the entrance of Shal’Aran, cloaked and cowled to avoid the scrutiny of any Champions or Nightborne that might happen to pass by on their way to speak with the First Arcanist and join her cause. Jaina’s elbows were propped atop her knees. Her staff lay on the ground beside her. It was as close to relaxed as she had looked since arriving, and still the line of her broad shoulders remained tense.

Oculeth had emerged from the cavern to stand beside her, and now was idly watching the little water elementals she had summoned as they playfully chased a mana wyrm around the pond. Occasionally the mana wyrm would turn and hiss and give chase in return, and the elementals would scurry off in different directions. One of the elementals raced to Jaina’s side to seek shelter behind her as the mana wyrm lashed its tail in pursuit of the other two.

“Is this your idea of keeping me company? Telling me I look bored and broody?” Jaina asked Oculeth. Then she turned to the little elemental and scolded it softly, “Don’t come crying to me because you angered the wyrm.”

The water elemental seemed to wilt. Oculeth clucked his tongue, but all he said was, “It’s a compliment really. You are remarkably good at brooding, after all.”

Jaina snorted. “Thank you. I’ve been practicing a lot lately.”

“Yes. I’ve noticed it spreading to Thalyssra, too. Like a virus. A ruminating virus. Or maybe a sulking virus?”

The mana wyrm was now being chased by the other two little water elementals once more, though the elemental at her side remained in her shadow. It kept tugging at the hem of her cloak to get her attention. “I am not _‘sulking.’”_

“Who said I was talking about you?” Oculeth rocked forward onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. His hands were clasped behind his back. “The news from the Broken Shore would make anyone ponder their place in life.”

“Would you stop that?” Jaina snapped at the water elemental. She jabbed a finger at its fellow elementals gambolling around. “Go play!”

The water elemental looked as hangdog as she had ever seen. Slowly, it glided over to the pond and disintegrated into the rest of the water. That area of the pond bubbled away as the elemental moped.

“Oh, now _that_ is sulking,” Oculeth said with real admiration. He tapped his hands together in a genteel kind of clapping. “Brava!”

With a sigh, Jaina rubbed at her eyes. The backs of her hands were inscribed with symmetrical patterns that glowed a soft lavender. The leylines extended all the way up her arms and terminated at her shoulders; they itched something fierce. It was everything she could do in her power to not scratch. Her arms were covered in the long sleeves of her robes, but she would need to invest in a pair of gloves soon. “I told her. I told her that the Horde leadership was volatile.”

Oculeth hummed contemplatively. “And what do we really know about this new Warchief? As much as anyone can know anything about Undeath, anyway. Most of it, from what I understand, is pure speculation.”

“I know enough,” Jaina growled. “I wouldn’t trust Sylvanas to stab me in the back unless it meant she gained something from it.”

“A survivor! How intriguing. Perhaps that’s just what we need in this hour of peril.”

Jaina lifted her head to shoot him an incredulous glare. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

He spread his hands to gesture at his own withered appearance. “Derelicts cannot afford to be picky, my Lady. And in case you haven’t noticed, we are awfully beggarly these days. Present company excluded, of course.”

“No. Present company included,” Jaina sighed. She stared glumly at the water elemental still bubbling away in the pond. The other two had stopped chasing the wyrm and instead were investigating their sad friend beneath the pond’s surface.

“Cheer up, Lady Proudmoore. It's not all that bad,” Oculeth said. “I understand your treatments are progressing nicely. You're almost bearable to be around some days.”

“Because of the leylines? Or my poor attitude?”

“Are they mutually exclusive?”

Jaina snorted. “No, they're linked pretty strongly.”

Oculeth nodded sagely. “I suspected as much.”

Cocking her head, Jaina studied the way he kept an exact distance from her despite the veneer of friendliness to the tone of their conversation. “Today is not one of those days, though.”

It was not a question.

He smiled at her, revealing sharp teeth. “Now, that is a topic not for polite company.”

“Good thing it's just me here, then.”

At that, he laughed. Unlike Valtrois’ tittering or even Thalyssra's warm smiles, Oculeth laughed fully and belly-deep. In spite of herself, Jaina could feel the corners of her mouth curl upwards. Oculeth’s eyes gleamed, bright as starlight, and he placed a hand over his heart. “My dear Lady, it is a shame your time here will be so short. I will miss your company when you leave in a few weeks.”

Jaina’s face froze. The breath congealed in her lungs and she struggled to exhale. Wooden, she turned back towards the pond with a jerk, and when she spoke her words sounded hollow to her own ears, “Is there something you needed?”

“What do you mean?” He sounded puzzled by the abrupt shift.

“You don’t need to be polite. And you don’t need to keep me company. Unless there’s something you wanted from me, I would like to be left alone.”

A shocked silence followed, broken only by the water elementals’ intermittent splashing along the surface of the pond. Then, Oculeth said in tone far more cool than before, “Actually there was a telemancy beacon in the Twilight Vineyards I was hoping you could help me with, but now I think I’ll leave it to our Horde Champions to sort out instead.”

Jaina squared her jaw, refusing to look over at him, refusing to rise to the bait. Her stomach boiled, and the leylines on the backs of her hands flared. They itched something fierce. She tucked her hands beneath her cloak and out of sight. “Good,” she rasped. “I understand they’re very keen to help now that their new Warchief thinks there’s some use for you.”

“As opposed to you, who wants nothing?” Oculeth countered.

Jaina stiffened. She twisted around to glare at him. “You would dare compare me to -?”

But before she could finish, he interrupted. “I thought you didn’t care for common courtesy. If you want to continue to wallow in self-pity, then by all means; I’ll not stop you.” He offered her a little mock bow. “Good day, Lady Proudmoore.”

With that, Oculeth stalked off back towards the nearby cave of Shal’Aran. Jaina glowered after him. When he had vanished into the shadow of Shal’Aran, she turned her glare upon the pond. The other two elementals had joined the first, and all three of them were now sulkily boiling away beneath the water’s surface. The mana wyrm was circling over that spot, drawn to the magics there.

The leyline inscriptions continued to itch. The flesh around them was raised and pink. For a long while, Jaina resisted the urge to scratch, until the mana seethed beneath her skin, until she couldn’t take it a moment longer. Swearing under her breath, Jaina rolled up her sleeves as far as they would go and dragged her fingernails all along the newest leylines until her arms and shoulders felt raw.

All the while the leylines continued to flare everywhere she touched. The mana wyrm drifted closer to her, nosing at the backs of her hands. Jaina tried to shoo it away with an irritable scowl, but it was persistently trying to nip at the sparks of mana that had begun to leap from her fingertips. Finally, with a low snarl, Jaina batted it aside with one hand.

She had not intended to send a blast of arcane energy careening through the air, potent enough to leave purple-blue scorch marks along the ground and singing the air with the stench of burnt ozone. The mana wyrm disintegrated in a whirl of glimmering ash.

 _“Shit,”_ Jaina hissed, shaking out her hands, which had begun to trail with smoke and flickering arcane flames. She had to move her cloak out of the way to keep it from catching alight.

When the mana had lessened to a controllable simmer, Jaina scrubbed at her face with a low groan. The itch had only seemed to redouble its efforts. She raked her hands through her hair, pushing the hood of her cloak back. At her feet, the water elementals continued to sulkily bubble the surface of the pond so that a few droplets of water scattered across her dark-washed leather boots.

A stab of guilt lanced through her chest. Leaning forward, Jaina carefully summoned a handful of mana-enriched ice chunks in an apologetic attempt to lure the water elementals back out into the open. The moment she was crouched over the pond however, a spray of water was spat directly into her face.

“Alright.” Jaina dropped the mana-enriched ice into the water, then wiped at her face. “I suppose I deserved that.”

 

* * *

 

“Stop scratching.”

In mulish defiance, Jaina continued to scratch with renewed vigour. “It itches.”

Valtrois rolled her eyes. “I can see that. Move over that way, won’t you?”

Gamely, Jaina shuffled over a few more steps. The ruins of Tel’anor crumbled within sight, great marble structures once gleaming and now gripped with vines. Every now and then, Jaina could have sworn she saw something shambling in the undergrowth, but when she glanced around there was nothing to be found.

“Oculeth was right: you seem more distracted of late.”

At that, Jaina’s head whipped around and she scowled at Valtrois. “What? Nevermind. Did you see something over there just now?”

“See what?” Valtrois deadpanned. She did not even bother looking in the direction Jaina was pointing.

“I’m serious. I don’t want us being attacked.”

“This place is a mass grave,” Valtrois explained with a much put-upon sigh, crossing her arms. “Ghosts. Spirits. Harpies, if we head further north, but we’re not going to do that. Now, can you move that way again? We still haven’t found it.”

Jaina took another step to the side, and immediately the inscribed tattoos on her skin began to burn and glow. With a startled little high-pitched noise, she leapt back again.

Valtrois rushed forward, her expression alight. “No, no! Go back! That’s it!”

“It really itches,” Jaina complained again even as she stepped directly onto the leyline hidden in the earth once more. Her tattoos lit up again, and she scratched at them furiously. “Can you hurry up? I feel like a Winter Veil tree over here.”

“I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care to.” Valtrois dropped to one knee and began to drive what appeared to be a stake into the ground at Jaina’s feet.

Digging beneath her robes to scratch at the inscripted tattoos on her lower back, Jaina grumbled, “Remind me why I agreed to help you again?”

“Maybe you’re bored out of your mind and have nothing better to do with your time. Maybe you angered Oculeth with some misplaced words. Maybe Thalyssra is too devoted to professionalism to allow herself to form attachments to a patient. Maybe I’m the only one that is willing to spend time with you.” Valtrois rose to her feet and dusted off her hands. “Or maybe you just enjoy my good looks and sunny disposition.”

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s not the last one.”

“And here I thought you were going to ask me to braid your hair,” Valtrois drawled. She pointed to another place on the ground a few paces away. “Be a dear and go try finding me another leyline over there somewhere.”

Jaina strode in the direction indicated. “Would you braid my hair, if I asked?”

Valtrois trailed after her, watching carefully for any sign of the leylines on Jaina’s skin. “Oh, sure. And afterwards we can talk about the latest fashion trends, and how beautiful they looked on those girls by the canals.”

“And here I thought you’d only want to talk about boys,” Jaina mimicked Valtrois' tone and words from just before.

“Please. One of us has to have good taste.”

The closer Jaina drew to the invisible leyline, the more the itching intensified. She slowed her steps, inching her way along at a glacial pace; she was braced as if for impact.

“Just -!” Valtrois raised her hand as if to clasp Jaina by the arm and steer her to the right area, but she froze before they touched. For a moment her eyes were wide. She very quickly snatched her hand back and snapped, “Just hurry up already.”

Jaina could feel her own expression harden. With it came that familiar burning sensation scratching at the space beneath her sternum. She swallowed it down, walking along until she found the leyline and she flared with mana. “What’s the rush?”

“Some of us have important projects to work on.” Valtrois knelt down to insert another tap into the ground, remaining just far enough away that no movement would see her and Jaina accidentally touch. She grumbled half to herself, “Thalyssra’s time would be better spent doing something of actual use, instead of wasting it on that so-called _‘research’_ of hers.”

This time, Jaina stepped off the leyline after marking it with a scuff on the ground with her shoe instead of remaining in place. It didn’t seem to help with the itching, however. She scratched. “What exactly is her research?”

“A flight of fancy,” Valtrois replied with a derisive sneer, tossing a stone aside to dig the tap into the ground. “If she thinks she can get anything out of that -” She cut herself off, eyeing Jaina askance. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

Jaina’s silence was answer enough.

Standing upright, Valtrois waved Jaina in the direction of the next leyline for them to tap. “In that case, I’ll not be the one to spill the wine, so to speak. Suffice it to say, we should be focusing on strengthening our new alliances, building our forces, and carving a path forward to retake Suramar itself. But for now I’ll settle for feeding the growing arcan’dor with leyline energy.”

Jaina marked the next leyline when the mana beneath her skin began to glow and itch. “You really think the Horde will be good allies?” she asked, incredulous.

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me. So long as we retake the city and depose Elisande, that’s good enough.” Valtrois had to clear more stones from the earth that Jaina had marked. “At least this new Warchief of theirs is an elf.”

“She hasn't been an elf in a long time,” Jaina said darkly.

“And you aren’t human, but that doesn’t stop you from acting like one.”

Jaina stared down at where Valtrois was driving the final tap into place. Her mouth went dry as cotton. “What do you mean?”

Valtrois gave a vague gesture with one hand over her shoulder in Jaina’s direction while she continued to work. “Let me guess. Arcane energies nearly ripped apart the very molecular structure of your body? And you barely survived using only what power you had at your disposal? And ever since you’ve experienced headaches, and uncontrollable mana leaks, and draining yourself seems to take a far greater toll on you than it ever has before?”

Slowly, Jaina nodded, but Valtrois wasn’t looking at her. She had to clear her throat to croak out a raspy, “Yes.”

Valtrois shrugged, and had to knock the tap into place with the heel of her palm. “You’re basically partway to becoming an Ethereal at this point. I’d wager that without this treatment, the remaining shell of your physical body would steadily continue to waste away until nothing but a mass of pure, irregular energy remained. If it ever does come to that, by the way, I could craft enchanted wrappings for you that should keep you bound to a humanoid shape.” Her voice had taken on an excited edge at the idea. She paused where she was kneeling on the ground and tapped at her chin in what should have been an elegant pose but for her withered appearance. “Wasn’t the mana bomb detonated quite recently? I feel like I just heard about it the other day.”

Still reeling from what Valtrois was saying, Jaina said numbly, “Only if you count two years as being recent.”

“That’s like no time at all,” Valtrois scoffed, as flippant as ever. Oddly it was far more comforting than the response Jaina usually received. Then, Valtrois paused, her brows drawing down sharply. “And you’re only just now seeking out treatment?”

“No,” Jaina said between grit teeth. “It’s just that no other treatments have been successful. And I’m unconvinced this one will be effective yet.”

“Oh, it will be effective. That’s a given.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Jaina drawled.

Valtrois flashed her a smile. “Many do.”

It was ridiculous enough that Jaina huffed with laughter despite herself.

Pushing herself upright, Valtrois placed her hands on her hips and surveyed their work. “I’d say that was done. Let’s start heading back to Shal’Aran. If I don’t get you back in time for your next potion of purging for tomorrow’s procedure, Thalyssra will box my ears.”

At the thought of drinking another one of those vile potions, Jaina made a face. “Great. We can’t miss that.”

“It’s either the potion, or allowing your body to be slowly eaten away by the very energies that sustain it.”

“At this point, I’m almost ready for those enchanted wrappings of yours.”

Together they walked back towards Shal’Aran. Their bantering continued, parry and riposte. Jaina engaged in the verbal back-and-forth, hoping to distract herself from what Valtrois had said, but she could not shake the chill that walked the length of her spine and settled behind her gut.

 

* * *

 

“I would like to ask you a question before today’s procedure, if you’ll permit it.”

Jaina’s hands paused in unbuttoning her robes. A few candles flickered around the perimeter of the space, just inside the screens. There was no draught this far beneath the ground, yet the candles cast their glow so that her shadow seemed to dance behind her. She did not glance over at Thalyssra, and continued disrobing. “Go ahead.”

Thalyssra was seated at her usual spot on the ground beside the low table, waiting for Jaina to lie down. For a moment all she did was finish arranging her tools just so on the table. Then she asked, “Do you want people to know you are here?”

Stepping out of her robes, Jaina folded them over the side of one of the screens. She considered the question before answering, “If you’re asking because my being here may adversely affect your recruitment campaign, then -”

“I am asking because I want to do everything in my power to comply with your wishes during your stay here,” Thalyssra interrupted her. She folded her hands in her lap and glanced up, cocking her head. “You will need to disrobe fully for this procedure, I’m afraid.”

Jaina started to pull her shift free, but stopped. “Why do you care about my wishes? You’ve only known me for a month.”

Thalyssra raised her eyebrows, but otherwise her expression gave away nothing. “I care,” she said simply, and offered no other explanation.

Jaina’s jaw clenched. “Well, I don’t. If people see me, then so be it.”

“And yet you draw up the hood of your cloak and make your presence scarce any time someone else enters Shal’Aran. So, I will ask again. Do you want people to know you are here?”

Rather than answer, Jaina curled her hands into fists around the hems of her shift. The fabric bunched and strained between her knuckles.

When eventually Thalyssra spoke again, her voice was soft. “Caring is not a flaw, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Don’t -” Jaina had to swallow down a hard lump in her throat. “Don’t call me that.”

“What would you prefer I call you? Archmage, perhaps?”

Jaina opened her mouth, and the words _‘I don’t care’_ almost tumbled out in spite of herself. Clearing her throat, she said, “No. Just - Just Jaina.”

Thalyssra inclined her head. Then she reached beneath the table and pulled out what appeared to be a half-mask, the kind that only covered the eyes and was worn by nobles to parties. She held it out to Jaina. “I acquired this and others like it from a contact of mine in the city. You do not have to wear it unless you want to, of course.”

Slowly, Jaina reached out to take it. She turned it over in her hands. The silk streamers were dusky and delicate, but the enchantments woven into the ceramic face were expert. Jaina could feel the illusion magic trying to cotton onto her fingers even as she studied the mask. The leylines inscribed on the backs of her hands gleamed in retaliation, but did not battle against the enchantments.

Jaina placed the mask on the ground beside her boots, and murmured, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Glancing away, Jaina pulled off her shift and small clothes. She tossed them atop her boots until she stood in the screened off area, naked. She had never been particularly prudish, but suddenly Jaina was glad it was only her and Thalyssra for this, the third of their procedures. The screens didn't seem so superfluous anymore.

“Where are we starting today?” Jaina asked as she clambered atop the stone table just as she had for the last two sessions.

“Your stomach. Then your thighs. I will stop just above your knees. There is a blanket for you to cover the rest if you’re cold. I will try to be quick, but this is the largest of the procedures we have undertaken so far. It will not be over as fast as you would like.”

Jaina reached for the blanket in question, which was folded neatly beneath the low-slung table, and draped it around her shoulders before lying back down. Thalyssra was already beginning to gather regular black ink onto the nib of a quill. She reached out with her spare hand, but let it hover over Jaina’s abdomen in a silent question without touching her.

Sighing towards the ceiling, Jaina shifted so that the blanket wasn’t tickling her nose. “You don’t need my permission to touch me every time we do this.”

“Your reaction to my touching you when you first arrived leads me to believe otherwise.”

“I don’t -” Jaina cut herself off again. She could not resist the urge to shift the weight of her shoulders and bare hips atop the table. Finally she admitted, “People don’t touch me often these days.”

She could recall the last hug she had received from Vereesa. She could recall Khadgar seeing her off from Dalaran, his eyes full of a sickening pity as he reached out to clasp her shoulder only to let his hand fall away instead. Even Modera kept her distance. And Kalec -

She didn’t want to think about Kalec.

Jaina would be lying if she said she didn't, in some twisted selfish way, look forward to these sessions with Thalyssra. There was pain, but she could almost justify that -- tell herself she deserved it, or that it was a necessary step in the process. There was also someone who touched her unflinchingly, who spoke to her without any guises. And each time they completed a procedure, the next became easier, more bearable. Jaina had remained lucid for the entirety of the second session, and suspected this time would be no different.

In silence, Thalyssra bent over her. She gently grasped Jaina’s waist and began to draw dots at various intervals with dark, glistening ink. Jaina struggled to lie still, knowing that it would only make things worse. With her gaze she traced the complex patterns carved into the stone ceiling above her, over and over, until she knew every twist and turn. All the while, Thalyssra worked, never erring, never faltering.

“How is your research going on reversing your own condition?” Jaina asked in an attempt to distract herself.

“It goes,” Thalyssra said sans enthusiasm, concentrating instead on marking Jaina’s stomach and thighs.

“That sounds promising.”

“Mmm,” Thalyssra hummed, her eyes flicking up at Jaina’s dry tone. “If you must know, I have reached an unexpected roadblock. I am close to overcoming this barrier, but I’m afraid I cannot do so without some more advanced tools.”

“Have you tried dynamite?” Jaina drawled.

With a huff of laughter, Thalyssra placed the quill aside, and pulled the moonglow ink closer. A gesture and a whispered spell, and Jaina’s entire lower body went numb. Then Thalyssra picked up the copper-tipped needle and dipped it into the ink vial. “You joke, but you’re not far off. I used to possess an arcane amplifier that would allow me to do what I require. Unfortunately, I had to leave my previous home in a bit of hurry for reasons I don’t think I need to explain.”

“People forcing you from your home; I wonder what that’s like.”

“I see you’re one of those who uses self-deprecating humour as a form of coping. Whatever helps.” Thalyssra tapped the needle against the lip of the vial. “Might I suggest being kinder to yourself. And don’t move.”

Jaina drew in a deep breath as the first of the leyline inscriptions began. The moment the needle pierced her skin, she could feel the mana welling up to answer it, threatening to bleed out into the open air.

Three more sessions of this. Not long ago, she had been counting down the weeks to when she could leave. Now, barely halfway through the experimental procedures, Jaina found herself staring down the barrel of what awaited her at the end of all this. She didn’t like what she saw.

“Where is your old home?”

Thalyssra did not pause in her work, but she did steal a quick glance up at her. “It will be heavily guarded.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Jaina pointed out. She tilted her head down to watch the steady movement of Thalyssra’s hand guiding the bone needle.

“You do realise that this transaction has already been fulfilled. You do not need to repay me any more than you have already done.”

Jaina swallowed and looked away. “I know.”

Moving to the other side of Jaina’s stomach, Thalyssra took her time carving the symmetrical inscriptions onto Jaina’s skin. She worked in silence for a long while, long enough that Jaina nearly opened her mouth to speak again -- to apologise, perhaps, or to ask the question again; she did not rightly know herself -- but finally Thalyssra murmured, “My home is a manor beyond the Twilight Vineyards along the northeastern beach of Suramar Bay. It can be reached by either land or by sea.”

For some indefinable reason, Jaina breathed a sigh of relief. “Then I’ll go when this session is over.”

At that, Thalyssra frowned and insisted, “At least three days after this procedure is finished, if you please. I don’t want you collapsing unexpectedly at my old house.”

“Yes, I imagine my unconscious body would clash with the decor.”

“It would be a scandal,” Thalyssra agreed. Though her words remained level, one corner of her mouth curled upward in warm amusement.

“I can imagine the talk at all the masquerade parties in the city.” Jaina gestured with one hand from beneath the blanket as though proclaiming headline news to a crowd. “Human war criminal found unconscious on First Arcanist’s bedroom floor. The First Arcanist herself was unavailable for comment.”

Thalyssra played along. “I would certainly be hard pressed to explain myself. ‘Grand Magistrix, I don’t know how this woman appeared in my bedroom! I’ve never seen her before in my life!’”

“On the bright side, it would make your insurrection look like small change in comparison.”

“Bold of you to assume my kin would deign to look away from their mirrors long enough to listen to tall tales about human war criminals. Or anything that happens outside of their own little bubble, for that matter.”

“Where I’m from, people don’t need the threat of the Legion as an excuse to ignore the rest of the world.”

“And yet you broke away from that cycle. You care.” The clink of copper against glass as Thalyssra gathered more ink into the needle. “You should be proud of such an accomplishment.”

That burning in Jaina’s chest had risen to her eyes now. She had to blink it away. “I just wish I could have done more.”

“Don’t we all?”

Jaina thought about her interactions with Ethereals in the past. She could dimly remember from her childhood a being of blue light bound with strips of glowing cloth with a slash of embers for a mouth and eyes bright as the distant void. They had crouched down before her in a shadowy corner of the Boralus markets, hand outstretched, offering her something she could not even recall wanting at the time. Whatever nine year old children wanted; an item from the nearby shop that her brother had refused to buy her, perhaps. The cloth bandages of its fingers had been almost velvety in texture when she had taken their hand. She had been about to open her mouth and accept whatever bargain it was offering, when Derek had found them.

She couldn’t ever recall him being more furious. The Ethereal had bowed and acted contrite even as Derek stood between them, shielding Jaina with his body and standing tall. And all the while the Ethereal had watched Jaina with a cold smile.

The mana was swarming beneath her skin. It was rushing along the paths previously etched, then sloughing away once more. Her palms were starting to prickle with sweat. Jaina closed her eyes and breathed shakily, “I really hope this works.”

“For your sake, Jaina, so do I.”

 

* * *

 

Three days later, Jaina approached Oculeth’s little workshop on the opposite side of the main circular room of Shal’Aran. He did not glance up from the device he was tinkering with when she crossed her arms and leaned against a nearby wall. Behind her the arcan’dor sapling was branching towards the ceiling, its trunk slender, fragile, and pale.

For a while, Jaina remained silent while she watched Oculeth work. He persisted in ignoring her. She cocked her head when, with an expert flourish, he managed to make the metallic device hum with energy.

Only then did he speak, and even then he still refused to look at her. “Do you require a teleport, Lady Proudmoore? Preferably away from here?”

He set the device aside and pulled a notebook closer to scrawl a few calculations into the margins.

“Yes, actually,” Jaina said. “I was going to Thalyssra’s old estate to fetch some items for her, and thought I might stop by the Twilight Vineyards on my way back.”

He blinked in surprise, and when he looked up at her, it was with a mischievous grin on his face. “Well, why didn’t you say that sooner? Have you decided to become a part of our little venture?”

“Unofficially.”

Jaina pulled out the enchanted mask and placed it over her face. She tied the silk ribbons around the back of her head. The moment the knot was in place, she could feel the whisper of an illusion draping from her crown like a veil.

Oculeth had scraped back his chair and stood before her, admiring the illusion. “My, don’t you look the part!”

Jaina turned over her hands. Her fingers were longer, her palms broader, and her skin a twilit hue. The same mana-rich tattoos that were inscribed into her own skin still shone through, but rather than make the illusion ripple and curl like the edges of burnt parchment, it only seemed to enhance the effect. Her once drab Kul Tiran style robes and cloak had been similarly replaced by the latest finery from among the Nightborne nobility. She did not need a mirror to know that she now wore a face that could walk through Suramar as if she owned the place.

“Right!” Jaina tugged at the lapels of her elegant, gold-trimmed coat and stood taller. “Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is quickly becoming far more elaborate than I had originally anticipated.....


	4. Chapter 4

_“I am used to being lonely but forever to be a stranger is a strange grief.”_

_— Ursula K. Le Guin_

 

* * *

* * *

 

The bay lapped against the ivory walls of Suramar city, wine-dark. From the outside, the city appeared perfectly unspoiled, but even from where Jaina stood studying the First Arcanist’s Estate behind the safety of a crimson thicket she could see the markings of the Legion here and there. Demons stalked freely along the gleaming parapets, blazing with fell magics and casting horned shadows. The oil-slick barrier around the city stopped at the walls, leaving the bay and the First Arcanist’s Estate outside the city’s grasp.

Jaina counted the number of guards around Thalyssra’s old house. Fifteen. And some of them mages, though she did not know exactly how she knew that, only that she did. It wasn’t the way they dressed -- elves tended towards elegant flowing robes most days, especially the Nightborne -- but somehow Jaina knew. She could look at them and all but see the crackle of arcane housed in their very bones.

Checking that the mask was still firmly in place, Jaina emerged from behind the thicket and walked towards the manor as purposefully as she knew how. A few of the guards flanking the pillars that mark the entrance to the gardens snapped their eyes towards her as she approached. She tried to think of what Valtrois would do, and immediately lifted her chin a bit higher and ignored them utterly.

To her surprise, it worked. They let her pass without so much as a whisper of complaint or question as to why she was here. Keeping her steps steady, Jaina continued around the manor, seeking an entrance to Thalyssra’s old private quarters. Petals were strewn artfully across the ground. The gardens were overflowing with pale lilies. The estate had its own private dock with a little ship at port and a view of the calm bay beyond it. What appeared to be a guard with more decorative ornamentations to his armour -- a captain, perhaps? -- was talking to his underlings aboard the ship. Jaina quickened her step as surreptitiously as she could.

She passed a handful of other guards, all of whom raked their eyes over her in suspicion. She only breathed easy when she found what appeared to be Thalyssra’s old rooms. Shutting the door behind her, Jaina leaned back against it for a moment, waiting for her racing heartbeat to slow before exploring any further.

Despite the fact that they had been visibly ransacked, the rooms were a broad, open space, filled with warmth, and awash with amber light. Once this must have been a lush comfortable space, with reading nooks, an open-aired study, a communal seating area for entertaining family or friends, a low-slung bed in sight over the railing. Now, there were books tumbled across the floor, clothes spilling in tatters from the armoires, and pillows ripped open by blades seeking any secrets the First Arcanist may have attempted to hide from the Grand Magistrix’s avarice.

Jaina walked over to the study corner and pulled out the drawers of a table. A few sheets of spare parchment and naught else. An open book atop the table itself with handwritten notes in the margins. More books were stacked all around. Jaina flipped through a few of them, only to toss them all aside. None of the furniture held any promising leads as to the arcane amplifier’s whereabouts. A tall cabinet in one corner proved to be completely empty, its contents already taken away by Elisande’s minions, or otherwise strewn across the floor. In a fit of desperation, Jaina went down on her hands and knees to peer beneath a bookshelf, to no avail.

Pushing herself upright, she strode briskly over to the only piece of furniture she had not yet checked: a waist-high chest of drawers, its drawers sticking out at odd angles, and clothes falling to the ground. She pawed through its contents, only to sigh. When she shut the last drawer with a touch more force than was necessary however, the back made a hollow noise like a muted drum.

Jaina paused. She pulled the drawer completely free from the chest and tipped its contents onto the floor. Then she began to tap along the base. With a push of her thumb, the false base gave way.

There, beneath the false base, were a set of pristine robes and a series of letters. The edges of the parchment were worn and yellowed with age and the care of multiple readings. All of the seals had been broken, but Jaina hesitated to read them. The correspondence was lavender-scented, and clearly of a personal nature. Setting them aside atop the chest, Jaina smoothed her hands over the densely woven fabric of the robes. Silver thread had been richly embroidered into the cloth, which was dyed a purple so deep it appeared plum-black.

The cloth quickly warmed beneath her touch. Jaina did not realise she had been standing there admiring its fine hand until she heard someone clearing their throat behind her. Dropping the robes atop the letters, she whirled around to find the guard captain from the ship silently shutting the door behind him.  

“Have you found what you’re looking for, Lady -?” the guard captain trailed off; his smile held a dangerous edge. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

Magic thrummed inside the caverns of his chest. He had not yet channeled it into being, but Jaina could almost smell the cloying acrid sweetness of it, as though he had gathered the energy in his hands, waiting.

Jaina drew herself up. “Because I did not give it. I fail to see how that concerns you.”

His smile remained, but he was moving forward slowly, like a manasaber stalking a doe that had dared to stray too far from the herd. “Of course, my Lady. Only that I could have sworn the Grand Magistrix placed this estate under my charge. So, unless you explain to me very quickly your business here, I will have to escort your from the premises for further questioning.”

Jaina watched his every step. Slowly, she circled as far away from him as she could, keeping a table between them. Her mind raced for a lie, any lie. “My mother -”

“-Will be understanding, or she will be fed to the Legion’s hounds, no matter her name or station,” the guard captain finished for her.

Graceful as a cat, he leapt atop the low table and continued walking straight towards her. He stepped down on the other side. He stood close enough to reach out and touch. Something flickered on his face a fleeting moment before he struck.

Quick as a bolt, he had grabbed Jaina’s wrist. A flood of arcane energy flowed from his hand, and the illusion shattered, the silk ties unravelling and the mask falling to the floor. Jaina stood stock still as the guard captain’s face screwed up in confusion when he saw who, or rather what, she was.

“A human?” He sounded incredulous and faintly disappointed that she was not some greater prize.

Mana welled up beneath her skin. It boiled until his hand started to smoke, until he released her with a cry of surprise and outrage, until he staggered back a step, clutching his arm and staring down at the blisters scorched along his palm and fingers. In this light, she could almost imagine him with golden hair, with golden skin, a pale mimicry of his cousins across the northeastern sea.

Jaina felt as though she were carved from stone, and her voice sounded distant to her own ears. “Don’t touch me.”

With a low snarl, he bared his sharp teeth. He threw out his good hand to cast a spell, a bolt of pure arcane energy that lanced through the air, streaking towards her. Flinching instinctively, Jaina flung her hand up and caught the energy as though it were a ball tossed between children.

For a moment they simply stared at one another in confusion. Jaina glanced between him and the mass of arcane energy thrumming in her hand, cool to the touch but otherwise harmless. The leylines visible on the back of her hand were glowing with an eerie light, and all of the other inscriptions in her skin itched. Then, she lobbed the energy back at him.

The arcane missile scattered into multiple arcs and pierced straight through the guard captain’s chest. They struck the wall on the opposite side of the room, leaving soot-blackened scorched marks in their wake. His blood was like starlight, dark and dwindling all at once. He slumped to the floor. His body upended the table, and with a start Jaina lurched forward to keep it from making too much noise.

Grimacing, she lowered the table to the ground, while his body began to soak in its own blood. That old headache returned with a vengeance; it was a steady pressure behind her eyes, as though someone had jabbed their thumbs into the meat of her skull. Jaina pinched the bridge of her nose and steadied herself with a deep breath. The guard captain’s body appeared fuzzy, like a dark silhouette with the light of him draining out onto the floor.

Jaina shook her head and blinked until his body came into focus again. Then, shooting furtive looks towards the shut door, she began to rifle through his pockets. It was a vain hope but --

\-- and there it was. An arcane amplifier. In three pieces, but all the same; it could be rebuilt. With a sigh of relief, Jaina straightened and tucked the pieces of the amplifier in the bag slung across her waist. She was about the pick her way across the floor, avoiding splatters of blood, when she paused.

Thalyssra’s letters and robes still sat, unmarred, atop the chest of drawers. Jaina glanced at the door, then at the body. Then, swearing under her breath, she stuffed the robes and letters into the bag beside the arcane amplifier. She bent over to retrieve the enchanted mask and tied it back over her face. The illusion draped over her once more, she slipped from the estate as quickly as she had arrived.

 

* * *

 

The moment Jaina stepped through the portal back to Shal’Aran, she reached up to undo the mask, only to freeze. Half a dozen new people were milling about the main floor. Some were Nightborne refugees seeking shelter from the Legion. One appeared to be a Troll shaman exchanging words with Valtrois near the arcan’dor sapling. Jaina eyed them askance, even as Oculeth and Thalyssra approached her from one of the nearby work stations.

“Excellent work!” Oculeth peered around Jaina to admire the teleportation beacon anchored behind her. “A little dusty, by the looks of it, but perfectly serviceable. At this rate, we’ll have the rest of the network up and running in no time at all.”

“Not with the way my luck has been running,” Jaina replied dryly. “My cover was almost blown by all those mana wyrms in the vineyards. Why do vineyards need so many mana wyrms, anyway?”

“To bother potential spies,” Oculeth answered. Then with a grin he added, “And also to eat the locusts that plague the area.”

“Sounds about right.” Shuffling through her bag with a clink of glass, Jaina pulled out three dark-glassed bottles of arcwine. “Luckily for you, the wyrms were unsuccessful, and I was able to swipe a few of these on my way through. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Both Oculeth’s and Thalyssra’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t,” Oculeth breathed.

“Oh, you don’t want them? In that case, I’ll just -” Jaina pretended to put them back into bag.

He lunged forward to rescue the bottles before they vanished from sight. Hiding a smirk, Jaina let him take them. He appeared awed as he studied the bottles, thumbing the embossed engravings in the glass.

“We'll have to ration it,” Thalyssra warned.

“You're no fun at all,” Oculeth grumped, though he relented by tucking two of the bottles into the crook of one arm, and holding the last by its neck in his free hand. “Just a sip today? For old time's sake?”

Thalyssra pursed her lips, looking grave. Then her shoulders slumped and she sighed, “Very well. But not for me. You and Valtrois may crack into one of them, if you wish.”

“Oh, I wish,” Oculeth said fervently. “I wish very much indeed.”

He strode over to Valtrois, brandishing one of the bottles of arcwine with only the kind of pomp he could muster. Immediately, Valtrois forgot all about the Troll and turned to Oculeth with wide eyes and an outstretched hand. He made as if to give her a bottle, only to snag it back at the last moment so that she grasped at nothing. A stream of rapid-tongued Shalassian followed, and Valtrois trailed after Oculeth, trying to snatch the bottle from his hand as he eluded her around the centre ring of Shal’Aran’s main floor. When she tried to swipe at the bottle, he jumped just out of her grasp.

Thalyssra watched them with a fond expression, though she said, “If anyone asks, I don’t know them.”

“It’s all too late for that,” Jaina replied, gesturing towards the Troll, who was watching the antics as well with a smile around his long tusks.

He glanced over in their direction, and looked as though he were going to walk over to join them. Jaina stiffened. Something must have changed in her expression, for the Troll’s steps faltered, and Thalyssra shook her head at him curtly. Puzzled, he looked between the two of them. He stopped and inclined his head respectfully towards each of them, before turning to leave Shal’Aran.

Jaina’s eyes followed him, unblinking, until he was out of sight. Even then, she touched the mask’s silk ties at the back of her head to ensure her disguise was still firmly in place. A few of the other Nightborne refugees were starting to take notice of them as well. Jaina took a step back, trying to surreptitiously shield herself behind one of the pillars in Oculeth’s section of the main floor.

Thalyssra tilted her head to one side. “Come. Let us go somewhere more private.”

Jaina followed her down the stairs and into a secluded partition of screens. As Thalyssra was dragging one of the screens shut, Jaina unlaced the silk ties and let her mask fall away. With it came the feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from her chest, or perhaps laden down -- she could not tell. She looped the ties around her belt so that the mask hung from the hip opposite her bag.

Turning around, Thalyssra asked, “The amplifier? Did you have any luck?”

Jaina reached into her bag again and pulled out the pieces of the amplifier. “This was the best I could do.”

Eagerly, Thalyssra held out her hands so that Jaina could tip the pieces into her cupped palms. “That’s more than fine. I can repair them.”

“I also found these.” Jaina held out the letters. “Don’t worry. I can’t read Shalassian.”

Slowly, as if awed, Thalyssra took them. She turned one of the letters over before tucking it and all the rest into a pouch at her belt. “I thought Elisande would have surely confiscated these. Thank you. Did you encounter any trouble?”

“No,” Jaina lied. She had never been particularly adept at lying, yet Thalyssra was nodding and taking Jaina at her word. That alone made her gut twist. With a grimace she admitted, “Actually, yes. A guard captain found me.”

Thalyssra glanced at her sharply. “And?”

“And -” Jaina continued, “- I killed him.”

“I see.”

Thalyssra’s jaw tightened. She turned her attention back to one of the pieces of the twisted amplifier, tracing the break patterns along the silvered metal.

Jaina had to swallow past the disappointment; it made her heart sink in her chest like a stone. “I’m sorry. If this negatively impacts your campaign in any way, I didn’t mean to -”

“What?” Thalyssra frowned at her. “I put you in a position where you had to kill a man for my sake, and you think I am angry with you?”

“Well - I - I mean - ” Jaina stumbled for what to say. “Yes?”

If anything, that only made the furrow between Thalyssra’s brows deepen. “What kind of people were you around before that would lead you to believe something like this was your fault?”

“They weren’t all that bad,” Jaina said lamely.

“Hmm.” Thalyssra looked unconvinced. She set the pieces of the amplifier aside. They gleamed atop a low table in the amber light. “I am not angry with you. I am angry with myself. I should not have let you go.”

“I make my own choices.”

“Of course. But that does not mean I could not have sent a Champion in your stead.”

“I -” Jaina’s hands clenched into fists and she forced them to relax. The thought of a Horde Champion taking her place stuck in her craw. “I wanted to help. I still do.”

“And for that I am glad.” Though Thalyssra’s words sounded sincere, her expression was inscrutable, as if veiled. Perhaps it was the shadow cast by her hood. Perhaps she could read Jaina far too easily. “You know, when you first arrived I was afraid your insistence upon transactions was a sign that you were too far gone.”

“In what way?”

“Have you ever known an Ethereal to do anything for nothing in return?”

“I’m not an Ethereal.” After a pause, Jaina added, “Yet.”

“And you won’t be ever, if I have anything to say about it.”

At that, Jaina managed a weak smile. Still she ducked her head; she could not meet Thalyssra’s warm gaze.

After a moment Thalyssra asked softly, “Are you alright? Was there anything else?”

Jaina’s hand made an abortive movement towards the bag slung at her waist. She stopped herself from pulling out the robes. Instead, Jaina grasped the bag’s leather strap, trying to disguise the motion as her simply readjusting the bag where it hung. The headache that had been present since the fight with the guard captain had never truly waned, and she found herself wincing.

She shook her head. “No. There was nothing.”

For a split second she was afraid Thalyssra would be able to read the truth on her, pluck it straight from her mind with deft fingers. But all Thalyssra did was nod and say, “You should get some rest.”

 

* * *

 

More and more new faces began to crop up in Shal’Aran. Everyday, the ranks of the Dusk Lily’s insurgence swelled. Jaina wore her enchanted mask every time she stepped outside the safe confines of her own partitioned space on the main floor. Even when encloistered by screens, she nursed the fear that someone might peer over the top of the screens and recognise her face.

More often than not, her usual quiet time tending to a headache by the pond at the entrance of Shal’Aran was interrupted by Champions of both the Horde and Alliance. They would approach her asking for directions, thinking her a native of Suramar, and always Jaina would withdraw with a vague gesture in some direction or another that she hoped was the right way. Unless it was a Horde Champion, in which case she would point them down the opposite path and watch them go with a sickening mix of guilt and pleasure fermenting in her gut.

By night, the headache would have intensified to a needling behind her eyes. Jaina would lie awake, scratching at the leylines in her skin, rubbing at the bruising beneath her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, shaking her head until the carved ceiling seemed to writhe with its engraved flowers and vines. And every time she started to drift off, she could hear the scuffling of feet outside her screens or the murmur of voices -- some sleepless Nightborne refugees who had taken up residence in Shal’Aran.

Sitting up and summoning a ball of bluish magelight by which to read never seemed to help. If anything, it only made things worse. The magelight would begin to pulse in time with her heartbeat like a will-o’-the-wisp, until all Jaina could sense was the steady bruit of energy flushed beneath her skin, until she chewed her lower lip ragged and had to dismiss the magelight with a terse gesture.

“My friend, you look unwell,” Oculeth remarked to her one morning almost two weeks after she had returned from the Twilight Vineyards. He was fiddling with another apparatus, which was splayed open atop his workbench while he prodded at its metallic innards with a needle-like device. He wore a self-made monocle that he used to more closely inspect his work.  

Jaina scowled at him with one eye as she rubbed at the other. She had to poke a few of her fingers beneath the mask to reach, lifting the warm ceramic from her cheek. “How can you tell? I’m wearing an illusion.”

Glancing up at her, Oculeth twirled a dial on his monocle so that it zoomed in on her face. “Trust me,” he replied dryly, “I can tell.”

With a huff, Jaina lowered her hand and straightened. “If I don’t do something around here, I’m going to go mad. What do you have for me?”

He turned back to his apparatus, speaking in a distracted tone, “Give me ten days -- give or take -- and I’ll have this telemancy beacon calibrated for the Sanctum of Order.”

 _“Ten days?”_ Jaina repeated, incredulous.

“Give or take.”

“Well, twiddle faster. I’m going even greyer.”

“I’ll do my best, Lady Proudmoore.”

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. Jaina started, and whirled around to find a night elf standing right behind her. His eyes glowed a deep golden hue, and his long green hair was unkempt. He clasped, of all things, a scythe in one hand, its handle long enough to act like a staff.

“Can I help you?” Jaina asked coolly.

When he looked at her, she felt the crawl of mana down her spine. He seemed to gaze past her, unblinking. “Perhaps,” he answered after a long, contemplative moment. “We will have to wait and see.”

Jaina blinked.

Oculeth dropped his tools and rose to his feet. When he bowed to the night elf, the monocle made him look ridiculous, though he did not remove it. “It is good to see you again, Valewalker Farodin. Are you searching for Thalyssra, perhaps?”

The night elf shook his head. “No. I’ve come to speak with your other Arcanist this time.”

“Of course. I believe she is downstairs at the moment.” Oculeth held out one arm, and already began walking in the direction of the stairs. “Shall I take you to her?”

“Thank you,” Farodin said, though he did not move nor look away from Jaina. He stared at her for so long, she shifted her weight from foot to foot. She was about to step away, when he bowed his head towards her and murmured, _“Ande’thoras-ethil.”_

Warily, Jaina watched them go. She waited until Farodin’s head was out of sight before creeping forward to the circular railing, where she frowned down at his tall, descending figure. The light of the arcan’dor sapling seemed to dye his green hair a darker hue, almost sea-coloured. She turned when she heard footsteps behind her and found Thalyssra approaching, holding a mug of tea.

“I see you’ve met Farodin,” Thalyssra said. Pale curls of steam rose from the mug bewteen her hands.

“I have. Who is he?”

“An ancient druid recluse who has lived outside the city for many years,” Thalyssra answered. “He is helping us ensure the arcan’dor’s growth does not encounter any issues. Would you like some?”

Jaina glanced down in surprise at the cup of tea Thalyssra was offering. “Oh. Thank you.”

Thalyssra removed her hand too quickly, so that their fingers did not brush. Jaina could feel her teeth clench, but she refrained from commenting. Instead, she gamely cupped the handle-less mug in her palms. “What is it?”

“An herbal concoction. Valtrois made it for you.”

Jaina had been about to take a sip, but she stopped to sniff at the brew in suspicion.

“The only side effects are drowsiness,” Thalyssra assured her. “She and I both agree that you need to sleep more.”

“Ah. So, you told her to gather it for me.”

“No, she did that herself. She likes you, you know.”

Jaina snorted. “That's news to me.”

Still, Jaina took a sip. It had been sweetened with honey, but a bitter tang still lingered on the back of her tongue. It sent a warmth sweeping down to her stomach. The arcan’dor branched overhead, its trunk beginning to form a silvery symmetrical arch. Together, they leaned their forearms over the railing, and watched Oculeth, Valtrois, and Farodin’s discussion below. The three were too far away to be heard from this distance, though Valtrois had begun to point towards the leylines flowing with mana beneath the arcan’dor. Farodin nodded; his long green hair reaching to the small of his back.

Idly, Jaina asked, “What colour was your hair before the Nightwell?”

“Dark green,” Thalyssra answered without hesitation. “I was quite vain about it in my youth. I quickly grew out of that, however.”

“And which do you prefer now?”

Thalyssra glanced over at Jaina. “Which do you think would look better?”

Jaina's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Thalyssra was watching her flounder with a smile. Finally Jaina said, “Silver, I suppose. But only because I can't imagine it green.”

Thalyssra smiled and countered, “And I can't imagine you blonde.”

Rubbing a lock of her own hair between thumb and forefinger, Jaina mused. The illusion had made her hair far brighter and paler than it would have been otherwise, but the effect was similar enough. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to it. Barely. Sometimes it still takes me a minute to recognise myself in a looking glass. I keep expecting to see a nineteen year old.”

“Don’t speak to me of mirrors.” Thalyssra pretended to shudder in horror. “We’re not on speaking terms these days.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jaina lied gamely.

Thalyssra shot her a look.

“Alright, it’s pretty bad. But at least you don’t have green hair anymore. Very unfashionable, I hear.”

Shaking her head, Thalyssra could not hide a small smile nonetheless. “Your attempts to cheer me up are noted.”

“At last I’m useful for something,” Jaina said dryly.

If anything, Thalyssra seemed taken aback. “Useful? You are here to heal. You shouldn’t worry about being useful.”

Jaina sipped at her tea and shrugged. “You’re probably right. I’m going to worry anyway.”

“Hmm.” Thalyssra’s brows drew together. “Your fourth session with me is in two days -”

Jaina grimaced, already dreading tomorrow’s upcoming potion of purging. “Yes, I remember.”

“- and I've asked Valtrois to make enchanted cloth bindings for you.”

At that, Jaina froze. She lowered the cup of tea and stared at Thalyssra with wide eyes. “You -? You did what?”

“The procedures have been going remarkably well, all things considered, but we are fast approaching the final stages. I won't take any risks,” Thalyssra replied in a tone that was far too calm and even. “In the events of a complication, your body will reject the leylines and begin to unravel even faster. The cloth bindings should keep you stable long enough for us to fix any such problem. Hopefully.”

“But you may still have to wrap me up like an ancient Troll King,” Jaina said in a flat tone. Sighing, she leaned her elbows upon the balustrade and rested her chin in one of her hands. “Great. Just what I've always wanted.”

“They may not even be necessary,” Thalyssra assured her.

Jaina ignored her. “I suppose I should get used to being swaddled in cloth bindings. In the end, I may be stuck wearing them forever.”

“That's enough of that, now.” Thalyssra’s voice was iron. “It is one thing to worry. It is something else entirely to stew in self-loathing. The latter is less than productive; it is self-reinforcing.”

Her words struck Jaina like a physical blow. Jaina’s head jerked back as if she’d been struck. She opened her mouth to retort, but the words died on the back of her tongue. Her throat felt too constricted to speak, and Jaina swallowed. Looking away, she lifted the cup of tea for another sip, and prayed the illusion hid the flush of shame that had risen along her neck.

Beside her, she heard a sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thalyssra lift a hand as though to grasp her shoulder, only to stop and lower her arm once more.

Jaina’s stomach felt like it was curdling. She handed the cup back to Thalyssra and turned to leave. “Thank you for the tea.”

 

* * *

 

The tea did not help. No matter how many times Thalyssra and Valtrois plied her with cups, she continued to sleep poorly, and to cradle headaches that would creep to the base of her skull the longer the day went on.

The days passed. Jaina’s fourth session passed without incident, though she now had to resist the overwhelming urge to scratch at the leylines etched into the top of her feet. Every now and then she would catch herself rubbing her boots together in an attempt to relieve the intense itching, and she would stomp her foot down firmly on the ground with a growl.

That would inevitably earn her a few odd looks from the surrounding Nightborne refugees, and, feeling both sheepish and irritable, Jaina would leave to hide herself somewhere for a few hours. She was sitting on a cushion on the ground beneath the first floor of Shal’Aran, reading one of the few books actually written in Common, while Valtrois and Thalyssra were off somewhere with Farodin. She reached into her bag to grab a quill and make a note in the margins, but froze when her fingers brushed against the robes at the bottom of her bag.

For a moment, Jaina allowed her hand to wander over the material, following the delicate filigree with the pad of her thumb. Ever since keeping the robes, she had tried thinking of ways to rid herself of them, but was unable to bring herself to follow through.

Perhaps she could leave them in Thalyssra’s partition without a note? That would seem suspicious.

Perhaps she could burn them? Or weigh them down with a stone in a lake? Thalyssra probably thought they were destroyed anyway. She wouldn’t miss them.

Regardless, Jaina continued to carry the robes at the bottom of her bags wherever she went, as though they were a charm for good luck, or for warding off evil. As Jaina worried the cloth between thumb and forefinger, book propped on her knees, a pair of plated boots approached. She snatched her hand from her bag as though the robes had burned her, and looked up.

A blood elf stood before her. The glowing hammers on his pauldrons marked him as a paladin. He bowed. “Excuse me for disturbing you. Have you seen the First Arcanist anywhere?”

Jaina narrowed her eyes behind the mask, and turned her attention back to her book, pretending to be engrossed. “I have not. Why don’t you go ask Oculeth?”

“I did. He suggested I come to you.”

At that, Jaina jerked her gaze back up to stare at him. “He - what? Why would he say that?”

The blood elf placed a gauntleted hand over his heart in a gallant gesture that made Jaina’s lip curl. “Forgive me. I did not mean to -”

“Spare me the pleasantries, and just answer the question.”

He inclined his golden head. “My lady, everyone knows where there’s one of you, the other is close by.”

Something tightened across Jaina’s chest, as though rope had been wrapped and pulled taut around her ribs. She shut the book and shoved it into her bag. When she rose to her feet, she twitched away from the blood elf’s offer of help. “Thalyssra is out. I don’t know when she will be back. Before nightfall, probably.”

The blood elf bowed again. “Thank you, Lady -?”

He waited for her to give him her name. She did not offer it. Brushing by him, Jaina stalked towards the stairs leading to the floor above, careful to step around the leylines winding through the floor. She stopped with one foot on the first stair, and said over her shoulder, “I would appreciate it if you could inform other members of the Horde to not approach me in the future.”

He looked puzzled, but nodded. “As you wish.”

She inclined her head in return, then climbed the stairs to the first floor. There, she strode quickly towards Oculeth’s workstation, avoiding making eye contact with any of the refugees that had begun to flock to Shal’Aran in droves these days. The arcan’dor had developed mana-bright branches now, and arched up towards the high domed ceiling.

When Jaina walked around one pillar, it was to find Oculeth fixing a plate over the same apparatus he had been working on before.

“Please tell me it’s been ten days,” Jaina asked, crossing her arms.

Oculeth held up the fixed telemancy beacon with a triumphant grin. “It’s been nine, but I’m just that brilliant. You may praise me now.”

“Thank the Tides,” Jaina sighed in relief. “Where am I taking this one?”

“The Sanctum of Order. Careful,” Oculeth warned as Jaina took the telemancy beacon and tucked it beneath one arm. “This isn’t a lazy traipse through the vineyards. It’s right next to the Nightwell. There will be guards, Elisande’s creatures, and the Legion’s demons crawling all over the place.”

“Who are you calling lazy?” Jaina drawled.

“I’m being serious. I would hate for you to be snapped up by the jaws of a hungry demon.”

“So am I. I would hate to be eaten.”

He chuckled, waving her off. “Just be sure to come back in one piece. Thalyssra would kill us both if you died.”

Jaina was already making her way towards the portal she had opened to the Vineyards. She stepped through with a parting, “I make no promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not be able to update next week. I need to do work on my thesis. We'll see how it goes.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

> _“I could not own my own triumphs, nor give myself credit for them.”_
> 
> _-Audre Lorde, from “Zami: A New Spelling of my Name”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

When Jaina arrived at the Twilight Vineyards, her blood was humming. With the latest beacon tucked beneath one arm, she started off towards the Sanctum of Order, humming along to the discordant tune that pulsed through her. The silk binds of her mask were tightly secured; nobody paid her any mind. The further Jaina walked, the more discordant the song grew, until she was tapping an uneven rhythm against the beacon, as if unaware she was even doing so.

Oculeth had been right; the Sanctum of Order was swarming with demons and Elisande’s creatures. A Legion hound whose footsteps burned with greenish felfire lifted its head to sniff the air as she passed, but went about its business without raising any alarm. Jaina stopped her humming, but her fingers continued to rap against the beacon. She crossed the courtyard, her gaze fixed upon the building at its very centre.

Of all the buildings, this one was the most heavily guarded. The tower seemed to sear with a dark light. She could hear its very stones singing the same inharmonious chords that thrummed beneath her skin.

“Lady Proudmoore,” Oculeth’s voice hissed from the telemancy beacon. “You’ve passed the teleportation pad.”

“Hmm?” She shook her head clear of the song, but it lingered on at the back of her mind like a burr. “Oh. Sorry.”

It took far more effort than it should have to turn away from the building. Jaina’s fingertips were tapping a fast staccato beat against the metal now, like a fluttering heart beat. When she stood over the ruined teleportation pad set into the courtyard pavestones, Oculeth’s voice spoke again, just as softly as before.

“Alright. Just like last time.”

Jaina cocked her head down at the pad. “There’s a cover over this one.”

“So?”

“I know I seem like any natural Nightborne, but I think it would look just a bit odd if I crouched down in the middle of a courtyard like this.”

“Try to make it look inconspicuous.”

“How? This isn’t the vineyards. There’s nowhere to hide.”

“You’re clever, aren’t you? I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

She muttered a particularly foul Kul Tiran curse under her breath.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Lady Proudmoore?”

“Not since I killed my father, no.”

To that, Oculeth had no reply.

Jaina tried to inadvertently toe at the plate covered the teleportation pad in attempt to dislodge it, but the moment her foot touched the metal, she jerked back with a sharp hiss.

“Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” she insisted. She rolled her ankle with a grimace. Her whole leg felt as though she had been sitting upon it, and the blood was all flooding into oxygen-starved muscle. “The leylines here feel more potent, is all.”

“Proximity to the Nightwell bleeds out more energy into the surrounding leylines. Tread carefully.”

Jaina frowned. “Valtrois?”

“No. Elisande. Of course it’s Valtrois,” said Valtrois’ voice through the beacon.

There followed a scuffling and a disgruntled murmur, before Thalyssra’s voice spoke next, “We returned from Val’Sharah not moments ago. Jaina, I do not like that you have gone to so central a location. I worry that being too near the Nightwell may induce –“

“Did I neglect to mention that you had an audience?” Oculeth interrupted.

“Yes, you did,” Jaina growled.

“Well, you have an audience.”

“Thanks. So, I gathered.”

Two guards walked close by. One of them glanced her way as they passed. Its horned head stood an impressive meter above her own. Jaina did her best to look both haughty and inconspicuous at the same time. The guards continued on their rounds, but they would be followed closely by others.

Ducking her head, Jaina whispered furiously to the telemancy beacon cradled in the crook of her elbow. “Could you all stop talking for two minutes? I’m trying to be inconspicuous!”

“But -!”

“Great. Because I am officially ignoring you now.”

She straightened and looked around. Still, nobody was paying her much attention. A demon cast its felfire gaze over her, but seemed – if anything – bored by her presence. As though it wished she would act out of line so that it would have a chance to play with its food.

Jaina steeled herself and flipped up the metal plate with the toe of her boot once more. She grit her teeth against the shock of leyline energy, and kept nudging the plate aside until it revealed the opening for the beacon. The telemancy beacon was a long narrow tube of metal, heavy in her hands. The longer she maintained contact with the leyline, the higher the frequency of the song rose, until the skin of her arms and back shivered.

With a whispered spell, she wove a second illusion to mask the one already draped over her – a mirror image of herself as a Nightborne, walking back towards the vineyards, while Jaina was momentarily invisible to indirect scrutiny. She waited until the length of three heartbeats until she was sure the host of demons and guardsmen were watching the illusion instead. Then, she dropped to her knees. A quick short push, and she had pushed the beacon into place.

It locked with a click, and mana erupted from the earth in a great font.

Jaina tried to jerk back, but her hands were fused to the beacon. The metal channelled arterial leyline energy directly into her, and the world went dark until all she could see was the Nightwell, searing cold and bright as a celestial body. The song was a roaring in her ears, droning out all else. Its notes clashed like waves crashing against the shore, clogging her lungs with foamy saltwater, gripping hold of her by the ankles and dragging her out beyond the bar. Her mouth dropped open to cry out, but mana rushed in, a seething torrent of light, while the Nightwell arced towards the heavens, larger than could be contained by mortal bonds.

Dark, fuzzy shapes were closed in around her. Their eyes were pale lanterns parting the air with a weak, green light. Next to the Nightwell they were nothing; they were less than nothing. As if from a vast distance, she could hear the faint sounds of voices shouting.

“-calibrate it faster, then!”

“I’m trying!”

“Jaina! Listen to me! You need to let go! _Jaina!”_

The shapes were looming over her now. They had horns, and bared teeth, and long, sharp-edged hands.

“Let go!”

“I can’t,” Jaina managed to choke out the words. They tasted of starlight and eternity. They were drowned out by the rush of noise, as the Nightwell chanted its song like a babbling hymn.

The dark shapes were reaching for her. Something grabbed her, and yanked.

Jaina fell through a portal, headlong. Multiple sets of hands steadied her fall. Her head felt as if it was splitting open, like overripe fruit clinging to the vine, cloven open by the mana that welled up in her chest, that hurtled through every vein. She could still sense the Nightwell towards the south; it burned like a beacon warding off ships from the craggy shoreline, or perhaps like a creature of legend luring sailors to their demise.

Three dark figures, mere silhouettes, spoke over her.

“Get a screen!”

“I’ll get the enchanted wrappings.”

“No, she won’t need them.”

“Thalyssra, she is already lost.”

“She is not lost. Go help Oculeth drag that screen around.”

There were hands on her face. Jaina flinched back. “Don’t -!” she gasped.

“Shh. I just need to remove the mask, alright? You need to let go.”

Jaina hadn’t realised she had snatched at the faceless shadow’s wrists. She let go. She glanced around, desperately seeking a source of light, but the only thing that breeched the inky submersion of air was a slender branch that gleamed, pale and sickle-shaped as the moon. Her own hands glowed, the light thrumming beneath her skin in time with every rapid heartbeat.

“Jaina, concentrate on my voice. You need to let go.”

“I did. I did let go.”

“No. You haven’t.” The shadow touched her chest, just lightly. “Here. Let go.”

Jaina shook her head. “I can’ t –“

Gently, the shadow clasped her shoulders, traced the leylines engraved there. “Think of it like a spell. You’ve woven a spell, and you need to tie it off, alright?”

Jaina’s fingers were trembling. The surge of mana was a clenched fist in her chest, its grip tight around her breastbone. Slowly, painstakingly, she uncurled each muscle. She blinked furiously as the world began to fall into light and focus once more, as if somehow she could clear the darkness from her eyes.

She was on the ground in Shal’Aran. A portal flickered to one side. Thalyssra was kneeling before her. A screen had been hastily pulled over; Valtrois and Oculeth were warding people away from the area, blocking any entry. The enchanted mask had been tossed to one side, its dusk-coloured ribbons strewn across the floor in its wake.

Jaina’s head throbbed. She squinted past the pain, but worse than that was the itching. If the leyline inscriptions had itched before, it was nothing in comparison to what she felt now. Before she could scratch however, Thalyssra pushed her hands aside.

“Don’t do that,” Thalyssra warned. Though her voice was soft, her grip upon Jaina’s wrists was firm.

Jaina squirmed, trying to chafe her clothing against her skin to very little effect. “Please tell me this part gets better.”

“It should get better the longer you are away from the Nightwell, and of course once the procedures are complete. Right now, you are out of balance. Unstable. Two steps from becoming a mana-storm at any moment. After that, however –“

She stopped, and Jaina raised her eyebrows. “But after that -?” she prompted.

With a sigh, Thalyssra let go of her. “I told you in the beginning of all this, I cannot cure you. There is no cure for having a body. All we can do is salvage what’s left of yours.”

The world was far too bright now. Jaina rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms. She drew her legs up, but found she could not stand; her feet felt unwieldy, like leaden blocks scraping across the stone floor.

Thalyssra helped her up. Her hands lingered for a moment too long upon Jaina’s arms, her eyes upon the flush of mana still shining along the inscriptions of Jaina’s collarbone, just visible beneath the gap of her shirt. Abruptly, Thalyssra looked away. She let Jaina go and bent down to pick up the mask from the floor. When she handed it over, she was very careful that their fingers did not brush. “Take heart. There are only two more procedures left. You’re almost finished here.”

The ceramic plate was cold and heavy in Jaina’s hands. She nodded, but could not bring herself to say a word.

 

* * *

 

For the next few days, Thalyssra watched over her like a hawk. Every time Jaina even thought she might be hungry, Thalyssra would appear by her side bearing a plate of food. Every time Jaina went to sleep, Thalyssra would greet her at her partition with a cup of herbal tea. Every time Jaina so much as set a book aside in boredom and considered idly amusing herself with a spot of spellcraft or wandering from the safety of Shal’Aran, Thalyssra would sit beside her and engage her in conversation. They would sit together in a quiet corner of Shal’Aran, watching the arcan’dor branch slowly towards the ceiling.

The tea only helped somewhat with the headaches, but sleep was a rare commodity these days.

“Are you alright?” Thalyssra asked, when Jaina winced and rubbed at her forehead.

The corners of Jaina's vision went dark with spots, slowly fading. “For the sixth time today, yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

Thalyssra frowned as she studied Jaina’s face, taking ledger of every shadow beneath Jaina’s eyes, every scab along Jaina’s tattoo inscriptions, where Jaina had been scratching in her sleep. “But you would tell me if you were not?”

Lowering her hand, Jaina sat back, settling against the cushions arranged for them on the floor. She searched for any hint of insincerity or cunning in Thalyssra’s expression, but found none. She did not know what surprised her more: the possibility that Thalyssra cared, or the hunger with which Jaina wished it were true.

“Of course, I would.”

 

* * *

 

Valtrois gave her a pair of gloves to stop her from scratching.

“They clash with the rest of your robes,” Valtrois sighed. “But I suppose needs must.”

The supple lavender-dyed leather appeared the exact same shade as the rest of the Nightborne outfit conjured by the mask’s illusion spell. The illusion did nothing to hide the gouge marks in Jaina’s skin where she had scratched through the night.

“Thank you.” Jaina wriggled her fingers into the gloves. They would not stop her scratching while awake, but they would serve their purpose when she managed to get a few scant hours of sleep.

“Don’t worry. They’re not free. I know you prefer to trade for things, after all.”

Jaina blinked, then rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’ll bite. What is it this time? More leylines?”

“Dear Elune, no. I rather like you alive.”

“Thank you.”

“Though should you ever find your body unravelling, do tell me.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason.” Valtrois waved her hand in a vague motion. “Oculeth mentioned you had a particular penchant for mana wyrms?”

Jaina made a face. “More like they have a particular penchant for me.”

“It’ll do. I need help gathering up a few and bringing them to Shal’Aran. No heavy-lifting or venturing near Suramar involved. Just a leisurely stroll to the west. Interested?”

With a shrug, Jaina said, “So long as it gets me out of confinement and walking around. Do I have to wear the illusion?”

Valtrois, who had already started to walk away as though the deal had been struck, paused and looked at her oddly over one shoulder. “You’ve never had to wear the illusion. Do as you like.”

Jaina scowled. “I do,” she insisted. “I am.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I am!”

When Valtrois lifted her shoulder in a shrug, her long silver hair spilled down her back. Then, she pointed to the cave entrance. “Outside. Tomorrow. Early morning. Don’t be late. And please – don’t tell Thalyssra.”

“What? Why?”

“You humans must have very poor eyesight,” Valtrois drawled. And with that, she strode off without another word.

Jaina scowled after her. She scratched at her arm, realised what she was doing when the gloves prevented it, and snatched her hand away with an irritable growl.

 

* * *

 

The locusts found Jaina’s sleeping partition in the early hours of the morning. It felt like she had only just managed to shut her eyes when she was awoken by a furious buzzing of wings. A half dozen locusts roughly the size of her fist were darting around her. One of them landed on her face.

With a yelp of surprise, Jaina sat up and swatted it away. The locust went careening off, bumped into the screen, and headed back in her direction. She dressed with all haste – faster than she could ever remember dressing before, including the time she had been late for an exam with Antonidas and Modera during her apprentice days back in Dalaran. The whole time was spent waving away bugs, and hopping from foot to foot as she pulled her clothes on.

Finally, she stumbled from the partition. A small crowd had gathered on the first floor of Shal’Aran. At first glance, Jaina assumed they had been driven from their own sleeping quarters in a similar manner. But a quick look around informed her that was not the case. An enormous swarm of locusts had gathered around the arcan’dor. They were clustered around the trunk and branches, crawling over every last speck of shining bark like so many parasites. Jaina took the opportunity to fix her mask into place without being noticed.

Lifting up onto her toes, she could just make out the figures of Thalyssra, Oculeth, and Farodin all engaged in grave conversation beneath the tree. Jaina slipped, unseen, around the gathered crowd, and made her way towards the exit. A few hungry locusts gave chase. She batted them away with the back of her hand, and a well-timed Kul Tiran curse. They continued to hound her all the way outside, trying to worm their way beneath her clothes and onto the leylines etched into her skin, as if drawn like moths to the flame.

Valtrois was already waiting for her. Her arms were crossed. She was tapping her bare foot on the ground. “Didn’t I say ‘Early’?”

Jaina pointed towards the sunrise only just burgeoning on the horizon. “What do you call this?”

With a wordless sniff, Valtrois nodded towards the locusts. “I see your talents extend not only to mana wyrms.”

“Yes. Lucky me.”

Tilting her head towards the hills behind her, Valtrois started off in that direction. “Come along, then. They should lose interest in you the further we get from the arcan’dor.”

Swatting at the air around her in a futile attempt to dissuade the locusts from trying to crawl beneath her cloak, Jaina grumbled, “I hope you’re right.”

She was right. And she was very smug about it.

“Just say ‘I told you so’ and put me out of my misery,” Jaina sighed, walking beside Valtrois along the broken stone path. Shal’Aran had long since faded from sight behind them, and the locusts had wandered away.

“And ruin my fun? Absolutely not!” Valtrois pointed ahead. “Besides, we’re almost here. I shall save my well-earned vaunting for another, more momentous occasion.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

They crested the rolling hills to find a ruin crumbling amidst a shallow lake. Jaina could just make out the faded, ancient Nightborne crest carved into pitted stone. The flocks of mana wyrms hadn’t noticed their present yet; they wafted through the air over the water, snapping up luminescent insects in their jaws. Meanwhile, Valtrois and Jaina stood by the edge of the water as if waiting for the other to do something.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Oculeth said the mana wyrms liked you. Plus, I heard you once had romantic liaisons with a blue dragon. So, go –“ Valtrois fluttered her hands as if shooing her away.

Jaina could feel her ears reddening. She tried her best to school her features. “What am I supposed to do? Flirt with them?”

“I don’t know. If it works, then -"

Jaina held up a hand. “No. Stop. Not another word.”

Of course, Valtrois ignored that command.

“How did you find it?” Valtrois cocked her head and tapped at her chin, looking genuinely curious. “Romantic liaisons with a blue dragon, I mean?”

“Why? Do you have your eye on one,” Jaina asked dryly.

When Valtrois did not answer, Jaina’s eyebrows rose. “Wait – really? Who?”

Lifting her chin primly, Valtrois looked back over the lake. “You’re right. We should focus on the task at hand.”

“So, it’s alright for you to badger me about my sad love life, but not vice versa?”

“Absolutely.”

Grumbling under her breath, Jaina wove a simple water-walking spell and stepped out onto the lake. A pinch of pain behind her eyes followed the spell, but she shook her head to rid herself of it. She seemed to carry around a constant headache these days. So long as she avoided leylines in the earth’s surface, and avoided casting any large spells, Jaina could almost ignore it.

Almost.

The moment she drew near enough, the mana wyrms stopped their feeding. They looked at her, slowly winding their way in her direction. In a matter of minutes, Jaina had a swarm of wyrms trying to nip at the leylines hidden beneath her clothes. Otherwise they circled around her so closely, she could feel the glide of their icy spines raking across her cloak, across her calves, and the sleeves of her robes.

“We may have a problem,” Jaina called back towards the shoreline.

“What problem? You seem to be doing just fine.”

“Yes, except now I can hardly walk, and my spell is going to wear out in –“ Jaina tapped the sole of her boot experimentally against the water’s surface, sending a ripple out in all directions. “ – two minutes. Maybe less.”

“Well, I hope you like swimming.”

“Very helpful.”

“I try.”

Jaina snapped her fingers, the sound muted by the gloves, and sketched out a quick summoning glyph in the air. The mana wyrm seethed around her hand, trying to nuzzle up against the magic escaping her like loose sparks from a fireplace. She was suddenly very grateful for the gloves Valtrois had gifted her.

Three water elementals reared up from the lake. Their heads barely reached Jaina’s knees. Any larger, and the spell would have made Jaina’s tattoos flare up in irritation.

“Can you help me herd the mana wyrms home?” Jaina asked.

Immediately, the little elementals nodded and began scurrying all around. One shot tiny jets of ice at the mana wyrms gambooling around Jaina’s legs to free her. The others flanked her on either side, darting about to chase any wyrms that tried to stray too far from the pack. Slowly, Jaina made her way back towards the shore. By the time she stepped onto dry land, she had begun to sink into the water up to her ankles.

Grimacing, she shook out her feet. “Remind me again why I agreed to do this?”

“Because those locusts at Shal’Aran need to be dealt with lest they attempt to devour the arcan’dor. Because I took advantage of your boredom once again. Because the thought of having purpose in your life is your one greatest incentive.”

After a pause, Jaina muttered, “You would think I would have figured out by not that asking you questions is a bad idea.”

“Humans are remarkably slow learners,” Valtrois agreed. “But often that means you try things others would not even think to attempt. It’s how you’re so ingenious.”

“Was that a compliment? I feel faint.”

“My ability to charm women has not dulled, I see. How nice.”

“Consider me swept off my feet,” Jaina said in just as dry a tone. Then, to make a point, she nudged a very pesky mana wyrm away with her foot so that she could continue walking without fear of tripping. “Can we go now?”

Valtrois fell into step beside her; she kept just enough distance that the mana wyrms would not touch her, while the elementals herded them along in Jaina’s wake. “So eager to get home, are you?”

Jaina opened her mouth to respond only to snap it shut. The emphasis on the word ‘home’ did not escape her. She grit her teeth. She very careful avoided eye contact, staring straight ahead. “That was a slip of the tongue.”

“Hmm,” Valtrois hummed a wordless note. It was not in agreement, but neither was it in disagreement.

Jaina turned her attention to one of the elementals, which had gotten carried away and was trying to round up what appeared to be a fawn in the underbrush. “Just the wyrms, if you please!”

Only with reluctance did the elemental stop worrying the skittish creature, and rejoined the group.

“Thank you.”

They kept walking. It was slow, the trip back to Shal’Aran. Jaina kept having to pause and get Valtrois to help her elementals regroup the mana wyrms every time they passed a particularly potent vein of leyline energy. Her temples gave a nasty throb whenever she drew too close, herself. Every now and then, Valtrois would reach through the swarm of mana wyrms to gently swat at Jaina’s hand whenever she started to scratch.

“Stop that.”

Jaina jerked her arms to her sides. “Sorry.”

“And stop that, too. I like you better when you’re not wallowing in self-pity. What a waste of time.”

Jaina bristled, but that seemed to be exactly what Valtrois wanted, for the dusk-coloured glow of her eyes gleamed fractionally brighter. “There. Much better.”

Jaina had been needled enough today. That her headache was starting to become something of a nuisance. She snapped, “If I’m bored and wallowing in self-pity, then what does that make you? So lonely, you have to seek out time spent with a foreign human?”

Silence.

Jaina’s stomach gave an unpleasant swoop. “I –“ she stammered, “I didn’t mean –“

“No, no,” Valtrois interrupted, her tone brisk. “You’re right. Before all this, I lived alone for too long. Barely scraping by, to be honest. It’s –“ she scrunched up her worn stub of a nose, as though she had just smelled something from the sewers. “- difficult reintegrating myself properly. I appreciate time spent with you.”

Jaina felt a thunderbolt of shame strike through her. “It won’t be much longer, now. The arcan’dor is nearly fully grown.”

“It may take longer than you think.”

At that, Jaina paused. Her water elementals had to go scurrying ahead to herd some of the mana wyrms from continuing without them. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a leyline expert, not an arcan’dor expert,” Valtrois said. “All I know is what I’ve heard. And what I’ve heard is that the tree needs more energy, else it will wither and die.”

“Can’t you just tap more leylines?”

Valtrois rolled her eyes. “I’ve taped every major leyline from here to Azsuna.”

“At which point you were chased away by a blue dragon, I take it?”

“We’re not talking about that.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Unashamedly.” Valtrois pushed onwards down the path towards Shal’Aran. The ancient road broken, half-buried, in the ground, or its stones tangled by roots.

Jaina followed. She struggled to keep pace, and almost tripped over no less than three mana wyrms weaving between her ankles like cats. “Then why don’t you just – shit – why don’t you just harness a mana-storm?” She only just caught herself from falling flat on her face.

“If I tell you, Thalyssra will scold me.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?”

Valtrois’ only answer was a wry laugh.

“Fine,” Jaina countered, crossing her arms. “I’ll just ask Oculeth, then.”

With a put-upon sigh, Valtrois relented, “Ask yourself: what could possibly be keeping Thalyssra from harnessing a mana-storm of rather significant proportions? By Elune, I wonder what – or who – it could be!”

Valtrois gave her a pointed look.

“Oh.”

Jaina could barely stand to be too near a leyline these days, let alone be within the vicinity of a mana-storm. Not while her own inscriptions remained incomplete.

“Come along,” Valtrois said. “We’re almost home.”

 

* * *

 

The mana wyrms ate every last locust in Shal’Aran. For days after, they could be seen drifting around the arcan’dor, lurking for any pest that dared predate upon the tree. For her part, Jaina avoided both the wyrms and the tree as much as she was able. Whenever one of the wyrms wandered too close to her partition, she would send them skittering away with a singed tail. And whenever she drew too near the arcan’dor, she would squint through a blinding headache as though he had been staring too long into the sun.

At the next appointment – her second to last with Thalyssra – she arrived too early. Thalyssra was not at their pre-ordained meeting place; the table where Jaina would usually lie down for the procedure was devoid of its usual blankets and pillows.

“Hello?”

Jaina wandered deeper into the lower halls of Shal’Aran. Her voice echoed across chipped stone. While the upstairs levels had begun to appear almost homey – as homey as Nightborne could be with their lush silks, precious metals, copious amounts of hanging plants from every ledge along the walls, and servers bearing trays of coveted arcwine to those most in need – the bottom-most levels remained empty. Dust clung to the threadbare banners. The sconces were unlit. She had to summon a ball of bluish magelight to navigate.

Jaina’s stomach rumbled. She ignored it. She would get to eat later that evening. Lifting her hand, she let the magelight rise higher over palm in an attempt to better see, but she had to blink away the darkening at the corners of her vision.

Something scuffled around a dark corner. She tensed. A chill ran down her spine. Instinctively, Jaina reached for the staff over her shoulder, only to remember that she had left it in her partition upstairs. Of all the places she had expected to stumbled across a threat, Shal’Aran was not one of them. The only thing she had thought to bring with her was her bag and her mask. And the only thing in the bag was a dry book on arcane mathematics, and the robes she had taken from the First Arcanist’s estate.

Picking her way warily across the room, Jaina avoided any leylines she sensed. She readied a spell; frost formed at her fingertips until the supple leather of her gloves grew stiff with ice. Abruptly, she rounded the corner, ready to strike any foe she might encounter, only to find an empty hallway.

Jaina blinked in confusion. Warm amber light spilled from an open door further down the corridor. The frost died at her fingertips, and her hunched shoulders relaxed somewhat. As she approached, she allowed the magelight to flicker and die, and she lowered her hand. Instead of a door, there hung three strips of dark purpled cloth, edged in silver and threaded with a complex sigil. Inside there came soft sounds, as though someone were turning the pages of a manuscript. Hesitant, Jaina pushed the cloth aside and stepped through the doorway.

It was a private study. Bookshelves and alchemy stations lined every wall, but for one, which had been painted black and bore a plentitude of chalk markings: druidic wards, arcane calculations, an Shalassian notations. Scrolls were strewn in the corners. Books stacked like columns of varying heights. The personal laboratory was lit by the same lanterns as the upper floors, as if the owner had simply pilfered them from above. Nocturnal ferns trailed their curling leaves from the tops of shelves, purple and silver and green. A cot had been dragged down and gathered with cushions like a well-worn nest.

Two figures apart from Jaina occupied the room. Thalyssra was bent over a desk, scratching with a quill at a large book, her back to the door. The other was another withered Nightborne, crouched almost double, movements erratic, spine and ribs visible beneath paper-thin flesh.

Jaina’s eyes widened. She inhaled a sharp breath. Both Thalyssra and the creature – it was not a Nightborne; it couldn’t be – whirled around to confront their intruder.

Immediately, Thalyssra set her quill aside and stood. “You’re early.”

“I wanted to talk to you. I –“ Jaina pointed, and breathed, “What is that?”

“His name is Theryn,” Thalyssra said, and her expression was especially grave. “He is what ultimately happens to all Nightborne who have been denied nourishment from the Nightwell for too long.”

“How -?” Jaina shook her head and took a step further into the room. “How long is ‘too long’?”

“Not as long as any of us would like.”

For a moment, Jaina simply stared at Thalyssra then at Theryn. He shrank away from her, shambling sideways as if to hide behind Thalyssra, though he blindly bumped into her desk and almost knocked over an inkwell. When he jerked back with a wordless whimper, his lips peeled back to reveal long yellowing fangs.

Thalyssra turned to soothe him. She spoke in low, hushed, liquid Shalassian, and ignored Jaina momentarily in favour of gently leading Theryn to a pulsing branch mounted on one of the work stations. He seemed hypnotised by the sapling, which was, Jaina realised, a cutting from the arcan’dor three stories above them.

“How many of these –“ Jaina gestured towards Theryn, “- are there?”

Facing Jaina once more, Thalyssra gave a weary shrug. “I don’t know exact numbers.”

“Hundreds? Thousands?”

“They wander the wilds, lost. Accounts vary. With the help of Horde Champions, I have –“ But Thalyssra stopped speaking, a frown on her face.

“You’ve found a cure?” Jaina finished hopefully.

Thalyssra’s silence was answer enough.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jaina demanded. She was standing by the desk in the cntre of the room now.

Theryn seemed to have forgotten anyone else existed. Meanwhile Thalyssra spared him one last glance before moving away. “I fail to see how this concerns you.”

“I could have helped!”

“You _have_ helped. And I have more than adequate resources from the Horde.” Thalyssra moved around the table to close the book she had previously been writing in before Jaina arrived.

Jaina’s stomach clenched, and her headache throbbed. Perhaps it was the mention of the Horde. Perhaps she was just tired and hungry after the potion of purging. “Is there anything else that you need? Anything at all?” Jaina asked, her words fierce.

“You have already gotten us enough arcwine to tide us over.”

“I can go back to the vineyards. I can get you more. No one will notice.”

“No, don't. You were already almost caught at the Sanctum of Order.”

“That's different. That was too near the Nightwell. I've been to the vineyards already. It's fine.”

“No, it's not!”

Jaina blinked and fell silent. It was the first time Thalyssra had raised her voice since Jaina arrived in Shal'Aran.

Thalyssra drew herself up to her full height, and for the first time Jaina was struck but just how tall she was. When Thalyssra spoke again however, her voice was firm yet low. “I have placed you in enough danger already.”

“I can handle myself,” Jaina insisted.

“You are unwell, Jaina. You think I haven't noticed your headaches? How it has begun to affect your vision?”

Jaina stared at her. “How -?”

“You don't realise what you look like when that happens, do you?” Thalyssra pointed at Jaina's eyes. “At times, everyone can see. The mana burns through you like a star. I am afraid for you. Until the procedures are all complete, your body will continue to deteriorate, and I fear any imbalance of mana will only hasten the effect.”

“What am I supposed to do? Not use any spells until this is all over?”

“Preferably, yes.”

Clenching her hands into fists, Jaina had to bite back a sarcastic remark about that being the last thing she was capable of doing. Instead, she steadied herself with a deep breath. “Then finish it.”

“In two more weeks, after this procedure, we will –“

“No. Finish it all. Today.”

Thalyssra blinked. “What?”

Jaina was already pulling off her gloves. She tossed them atop the table, and tugged at the clasp of her cloak. She draped that over the back of the chair, along with the bag slung across her shoulder. “There are only two more procedures, right? Do them both today. Here. Right now."

When Jaina began unfastening the front of her robes, Thalyssra moved forward to still her hands. “It’s far too risky.”

“That’s my choice, isn’t it?’

Thalyssra’s fingers clenched tightly around Jaina’s wrists before she let go. “And mine as well. No,” Her expression hardened when Jaina tried to speak. “I won’t do it. We have been fortunate enough so far to avoid complications. I will not throw it all away now.”

Jaina clenched her teeth together. “I can handle it.”

“But I couldn’t. If something happened to you, I couldn’t handle it.”

For a moment Jaina's mouth worked, but no sound came out; she had to tamp down a sickly feeling that welled up in her chest. “You need the arcan’dor to bear fruit. You cannot wait that long for a mana-storm to –“

Jaina cut herself off with a harsh swallow. Thalyssra watched her intently, and asked. “Who told you?”

Even as Jaina shook her head, she heard herself confess, “Valtrois.”

Behind them, Theryn made a crooning noise. He was stroking the branch of the arcan’dor in awe. Both of them glanced in his direction. Thalyssra appeared torn between wanting to continue this argument elsewhere, and wanting to comfort her -- Jaina did not know what to call him -- _experiment._

It had not been so long ago that Jaina arrived here. She could remember exchanging words she would later regret with Khadgar, words about exactly what she thought about his idea for seeking a cure with the exiled forces of Suramar. Now, the thought that Thalyssra and the others could fall into such a state forever sent a shiver of icy horror creeping along her spine.

There had to be something. There had to be -

Jaina stared at the cutting of the arcan'dor, then down at her own hand. She flexed her fingers, feeling the omnipresent ripple of excess mana like the flex of muscle beneath her skin. “Let me do it, then.”

Slowly, Thalyssra turned back around. She had gone very stiff, her voice very cold. “You don’t know what you are proposing.”

Reaching forward, Jaina flipped open the book Thalyssra had just closed. She stabbed her finger against a page. She may not have understood Shalassian, but she could read arcane runes and glyphs like the back of her hand. “You need a mana-storm. I am a mana-storm waiting to happen. Use me. After this next inscription, use me, and then finish my last procedure.”

“Out of the question. The Horde –“

“Damn it, you don’t have time to search for another answer! Who knows when the Horde Champions can dredge up an alternative solution?”

“They have not failed me yet.”

“And I have?”

Thalyssra’s brow darkened. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“You’re the one who was lecturing me about accepting the kindness of others just a few months ago,” Jaina reminded her.

“This is not kindness, Jaina. It is madness.”

“I want to do it. I want to help.”

"I will not let you martyr yourself for nothing!"

"It wouldn't be for nothing!" Jaina snapped. "It would be for you!"

The words had slipped out before she could stop them, and a grave silence fell in their wake. Jaina's eyes widened. She stared at Thalyssra, whose expression had gone smooth and blank, utterly unreadable.

"I -" Jaina stammered. "I mean -"

"You would throw away your life so easily? You hardly know me," Thalyssra said, and though her tone was soft Jaina flinched.

"I know you enough. I know you're a good person. I know you're doing good here."

For a long moment Thalyssra just looked at her with a calm yet piercing gaze. "I cannot stop you from making your own decisions. Nor will I try. But do not lie to yourself and say you are doing this for me."

"I'm not -" Jaina started to say, but faltered somewhat beneath that quelling stare. Then, she squared her shoulders. "I owe a debt to -"

"Theramore is gone," Thalyssra said. "The dead don't care about Suramar, or me, or even you. They are dead."

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Thalyssra clasped her hands together, still standing tall, tall enough to remind Jaina of what she was. “If joining them is what you want so badly, then why come to me at all? Why seek out treatment? Were you hoping this would fail all along?”

“No.”

“Then, what? You could not die at Theramore, so you sought vengeance? You could not destroy Orgrimmar, so you sought penance? Is that what this is?”

Jaina opened her mouth, but the words would not come. Weakly, she shook her head, even knowing that it was a lie.

“No?” Thalyssra continued. “Then, if I am such a good person, how could you think I would want you to suffer at my hands? That I would want people to die for me? The last thing I want is for good people to throw their lives at my feet.”

“I’m not,” Jaina rasped. “I’m not good.”

“Stop saying that. Stop thinking that. What kind of person would I be if I let you do this? I want you to live. I want you to heal. I want to see what kind of person you can become when you’re given the opportunity to succeed rather than fail.”

Thalyssra rounded the table to stand before her, and she was close enough that Jaina felt the brief stirrings of hope that Thalyssra might reach out and touch her. She didn’t.

“Soon this will all be over, and you can go,” Thalyssra murmured, and Jaina had to catch her breath at the softness in her eyes.

“Where?” Jaina asked, she gripped the high back of the chair, her knuckles whitening. “Theramore? Dalaran? Kul Tiras? I can’t.”

“When was the last time you went home? Your people cannot hate you forever.”

At that Jaina let loose a watery laugh. She wiped at her eyes. “You don’t understand. I have nowhere. I didn’t come here hoping this would fail. I came here because I have nothing. And when this is all said and done, I will still have nothing. I –“

Her hand tightened around the back of the chair, and in doing so one of her fingers brushed against the worn leather of her bag. She glanced down. It carried hardly anything, yet reaching into it felt heavy. With a trembling hand, Jaina pulled out the plum-dark robes.

“I didn’t -” Jaina started to say, but had to stop to clear her throat before she could continue. “I don’t know why I didn’t give these to you sooner. I just -- I don’t -”

The cloth was rich and heavy. She could not find the words to explain the heavy drain of nostalgia that weighed upon her chest like a riverstone. How seamlessly Oculeth and Valtrois and Thalyssra all seemed to fit together. How out of place Jaina was among them. How transient. How holding onto these fragments of someone else’s life made her feel somehow more closely linked to this place. How she had seriously considered taking the items with her as a keepsake when she inevitably had to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Jaina mumbled. She pushed the robes into Thalyssra's hands.

“It’s alright,” Thalyssra said, appearing startled.

“I’m sorry,” Jaina repeated. “I’m sorry. I’m -”

She kept apologising -- over and over -- mumbling the phrase like a chant until she wasn’t apologising to Thalyssra at all.

Jaina barely registered the fact that Thalyssra had set the robes aside atop the table, as if they were already forgotten. She made an abortive motion to clasp Jaina’s shoulders, but stopped when Jaina instinctively flinched from the sudden movement. Slowly, Thalyssra cupped Jaina’s cheek in one hand. With the other, she placed her fingers over Jaina’s lips to stop her from speaking.

“Stop apologising for being alive. Nobody wishes you had died.”

Swallowing thickly, Jaina ducked her head. Her vision grew fuzzy and blurred, and she had to blink away tears.

Thalyssra cupped her face in both hands now, gently tipping Jaina’s head up so that she had to look at her. “You can stay here,” Thalyssra murmured. “You don’t have to leave, if that’s what you want.”

Jaina reached up to grasp Thalyssra’s wrists; not to push her away, but to cling to as though clinging to a buoy during a storm. For a moment, she could not speak, and then she managed to say, “Promise me that if you cannot find an alternative solution, you will let me help. There would be no point in my staying if you’re not here.”

The expression on Thalyssra’s face was unfathomable. Jaina tightened her grip. Then Thalyssra said softly, “I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this was written on plane rides to/around Europe while I'm on holiday. I had just enough time to type this up before hopping on another plane. Apologies for any spelling/formatting errors or disjointedness. I haven't had time to properly read this chapter over.


	6. Chapter 6

 

> _“I’m a strange new kind of inbetween thing aren’t I_
> 
> _not at home with the dead nor with the living.”_
> 
> _— Sophocles, trans. Anne Carson; from Antigonick._

 

* * *

* * *

Even attempting a simple mirroring spell in a glass of water made her wince. Jaina tried twice before she finally gave up and just found a silver-handled mirror, small enough to hold in one hand. Surprisingly, it had not been one of Valtrois’ possessions, but Oculeth’s. Apparently he used it as an attachment when tampering with particularly fiddly apparati. That at least explained the dark remnants of grease caught in the handle’s engravings.

Wiping off the handle with the hems of her robes, Jaina held up the mirror to inspect her face. It had been months since she had last seen her reflection with any clarity. Her hair had grown longer; honestly it could use a trim. Her skin was paler from all her time in the night-washed lands of Suramar, wheredusk reigned even through summer. Most notably however were the tattoos engraved on her face.

After their confrontation a week ago, Thalyssra had performed the second to last procedure with an unprecedented gentleness. It had taken just as long as the others -- if not a little longer -- and Thalyssra had wielded the ink and copper-tipped bone needle like a painter’s tools, her fingers warm and soft against Jaina’s face.

Jaina traced the leylines with her own fingertips now. They curved along her neck from her collarbone, circled behind her ears just beneath her hairline, and then slashed from brow to jaw down both her eyes. With every heartbeat they seemed to pulse. Her eyes caught the light in an unearthly glow, like resin.

“You look fine, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Jaina lowered the mirror rather quickly. Her hands were not as steady as she would have liked. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “That’s not -” she almost said, but bit back the words. Instead, she lifted her chin and her voice was far more calm than she felt, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Oculeth replied, still bent over his lab table strewn with half-finished gadgets and scrawled notes. 

“Though, I’d be much more inclined to believe you, if you’d actually looked at me.”

“An unnecessary step in the process, Lady Proudmoore. You always look stunning.”

“A charmer and a liar,” she drawled, “And here I thought I was the only one.”

Completely deadpan, Oculeth replied, “You’re in Suramar. You’ll find folk like us everywhere. Can I please have my mirror back now?” 

Oculeth held his hand out towards her without looking up from the device he was working on, which appeared to be an armoured gauntlet that would occasionally twitch its mechanical fingers. Her enchanted mask was propped on one corner of the table, a dusky silk streamer trailing from the edge. They were safely concealed behind two screens, which blocked off a section of Shal’Aran for Oculeth’s private lab. 

Jaina handed the mirror over. As she did so, she peered over his shoulder, standing behind him. “What on earth is that, anyway?” she asked, cocking her head at the mechanical arm that was responding to Oculeth’s fiddling. 

Rather than Oculeth replying however, Valtrois’ voice sounded behind them. “It’s the armoured plating taken from a high-end security construct in the noble district.” When Jaina glanced around, Valtrois was already walking up beside her to stand behind Oculeth as well. She planted her hands on her hips in an impatient pose. “Are you still tinkering away? I need that to build an ephemeral mana-storm projector.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Oculeth murmured. He prodded at the armoured gauntlet’s interior with his tools, and the whole hand spasmed in response. “Fascinating!”

Valtrois rolled her eyes. “Just give it over, won’t you?”

“Do you know how hard it is to kill one of these things? When else am I going to have the opportunity to deconstruct a Chronarch Defender?”

“In the afterlife, at this rate.” Valtrois flicked one of Oculeth’s long ears, and he flinched, glaring at her over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be working on teleporting the Horde Champions into the Arcway?”

“I thought teleporting them to the bottom of the sea would be more fun.” 

Valtrois flicked his ear again, and he swore under his breath.

Jaina’s eyes widened. “You’re going to _what?”_

“Oh, you didn’t tell her about the plan?” Valtrois asked Oculeth, far too sweetly to be truly innocent.

Rubbing at his ear, Oculeth grumbled something about ‘doubled security’ and a number of choice Shalassian curse words that Jaina did not know followed by Grand Magistrix Elisande’s name. 

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Jaina said, looking between the both of them.

Valtrois’ answer was accompanied by an elfin, one-shouldered shrug. “Needs must.”

“And Thalyssra is alright with this?”

Oculeth blinked at her in confusion. “But of course.”

Jaina’s jaw tightened. She drew a deep breath through her nose, but the anger left a metallic, coppery taste in the back of her mouth. “Of all the hypocritical -! After that whole lecture about why I -! And not wanting people to risk their lives -! And now she’s -!” 

Jaina choked on her indignation. She clenched her hands into fists. She could feel the heat rising up her neck. In the past this would have meant unpleasant splotches of colour in her cheeks. Now, a flicker of dark light flashed at the edges of her vision, blinding white, leaving purple streaks in its wake. It spread across her skin, washing over her in a shiver like a flash of water against hot iron. 

She started in surprise, blinking away the afterimages, which lingered in her eyes. Her anger vanished, and in its stead a bewildered wariness. Slowly pointing to herself, Jaina asked, “What was that?” 

Valtrois was staring at her. Even Oculeth had abandoned his tinkering in favour of watching Jaina with wide-eyes. They glanced at each other in a silent exchange. Then, Valtrois clapped her hands together once, bringing them beneath her chin in the pantomime of a thoughtful pose. “Oh! Well, you just went a bit -- you know -- _incorporeal._ It’s fine. You’re fine! See?”

To prove her point, she reached out and pinched Jaina’s cheek. Hard.

“Ow!” Jaina slapped Valtrois’ hand away with a scowl, and rubbed at the side of her face. 

“You might even say the matter itself was _‘immaterial,’”_ Oculeth added. He offered Jaina a smile, which she did not return.

Valtrois shook her head at him, but tried to hide it.

“Too soon?” he asked in a small voice.

“Too soon,” Jaina growled, while Valtrois nodded and masked it as a straightening of her shoulders. “I thought these inscriptions were supposed to make me better.”

“They are. They will,” Valtrois assured her. “You’re just at your most unstable right before the last procedure. Think of trying to contain the flow of water through a pipeline that you have to install piece by piece. The pressure is going to be at its greatest right before the last pipe is put in place.”

Jaina rubbed at the lingering ache behind her eyes. “I understand the magical theory behind it. Is there nothing we can do to make it stop? I have four more days until my last procedure, and I rather like being tangible.”

At that, Valtrois merely shrugged. “Meditation? Calming music?”

“I can sing for you?” Oculeth offered.

“I’ll pass,” Jaina said. 

From beyond the screens, there came a rising murmur of voices, and footsteps milling together in unison. The three of them glanced at one another, before Oculeth rose to his feet. As Valtrois pulled back one of the screens, Jaina had reached for the mask and was tying it place behind her head. The illusion draped over her, and she joined the others in seeing what the commotion was all about. 

People had begun to cluster around the arcan’dor. All around the railings and even the lower level they gathered. From here, nothing about the tree seemed to have changed. Frowning in confusion, Jaina pushed her way through the crowd after Valtrois and Oculeth. When she reached the most central platform that circled the trunk, she froze. 

There, Thalyssra gripped her staff in hand and was speaking in a hushed, grave voice to Farodin. Even as he listened, he shook his head with a worried furrow to his brow; his great weathered scythe was slung across his back. Behind them, the bark of the arcan’dor had begun to tarnish from its usual gleaming silver. Now, the trunk was the grey of corroded iron, and the jewel-like tones of its heartwood had begun to dim. 

Closing his eyes, Farodin raised the palm of his hand over the trunk of the arcan’dor. Slowly, he let his arm fall, and gazed up into the perfectly symmetrical branches. “We have run out of time.”

Another concerned murmur swept through the watching crowd at those words. 

“That can’t be right.” Thalyssra began to pace around the tree, as if the force of her glare alone might cure whatever sickness ailed it. “We were supposed to have a few more weeks before this stage. Why is it so far advanced?” 

Farodin sighed, “I do not know.”

“You’re supposed to be the expert.” Thalyssra gripped her staff tighter, using it to gesture at him. “So? Explain.”

A weariness hung about Farodin’s broad, fur-clad shoulders. When he shook his head, it was accompanied by the clatter of bear claws strung around his neck. “I am sorry. Some things just are, Thalyssra.” 

The muscles of her jaw bunched together as though she were clenching her teeth. She rapped the end of her staff against the ground in a series of nervous staccato taps, and for a moment she seemed deep in thought. Finally, she came to a stop beside him, and asked, “How long?” 

“A few days. Maybe less.” 

Together the two of them looked up into the high silvered branches. Then, Farodin placed a broad hand on Thalyssra’s shoulder. What he said to her next, Jaina could not understand; it sounded like Darnassian. 

She shrugged his hand off and said in a low tone, “We can speak of this later.” Her voice sharpened. “Oculeth.”

Oculeth stepped forward. “Yes?” 

She tilted her head slightly towards him, but did not look away from the arcan’dor. “How long until you can safely teleport us into the Arcway?” 

Oculeth spread his hands. “I can have an advanced beacon prepared in four days, but after that we will need our Champions to use it to survey key areas around Suramar.”

“And the mana-storm projector?” Thalyssra asked.

To that, Valtrois answered, “Five days. But only if I don’t sleep.” 

A tense silence followed those words. The others held their breath, waiting for the First Arcanist’s decision. 

Jaina stepped forward. “Thalyssra -”

“No,” Thalyssra snapped. She did not turn to look at Jaina, instead firmly keeping her eyes upon the arcan’dor. “I don’t want to hear a word from you right now.” 

It wasn’t that they were fighting, so to speak. It was just that they had not spoken much since Jaina’s last procedure. And by that, she meant they had not exchanged more than a few words in thirteen days. In all her years, Jaina never had gotten the hang of self-preservation. 

“You promised,” was all Jaina said. 

Thalyssra’s shoulders tensed. Her long ears twitched, tilting back. She turned her head slightly, just enough to give the impression she was glancing towards Jaina without having to actually make eye contact. “And I have a few days to keep that promise.” She started towards the stairs, every movement stiff, speaking in a brisk tone to Oculeth and Valtrois, “Use the last of the arcwine if you must. This is the end, whether we are ready for it or not.”

Neither of them wasted a moment on a sarcastic remark or any of their usual antics. Oculeth hurried back towards his area of Shal’Aran, while Valtrois was already in motion, joining Oculeth to retrieve her armoured plating. As Thalyssra began to descend the stairs to her own private lab beneath Shal’Aran, the crowd of Nightborne slowly dispersed, talking in hushed tones as though someone had died. They gave Jaina a wide berth, casting her curious glances. None were brave enough to approach her. 

None save Farodin. 

He waited, unmoving, until the crowd scattered. His golden-eyed stare was as intense as ever, tempered only somewhat by a considering edge. The blade of his scythe gleamed over his shoulders like a dark crescent moon. 

Jaina had to brace herself when he walked towards her, as if waiting for a blow to land. “Can I help you?” 

It was so reminiscent of their first interaction, that the corner of his beard twitched in a tell-tale smile. It did not look unkind on his otherwise stern face. “I believe we can help each other. As has always been the case.” 

Jaina’s eyebrows rose. She had to stifle the urge to check and make sure her mask was still in place despite the fact that she could feel the illusion cottoning onto her like a second skin. She did not trust him. “Why should I trust you?” 

If anything that only seemed to amuse him more, though he hid it well. “Why should you not? Because I know who you are? Your secret is safe with me.” 

“No. Because I don’t know what side you’re on.”

The glow of the arcan’dor gilded him from behind as though all in silvered in moonlight, and his eyes burned, gold, uncanny, and druidic through the shadows of Shal’Aran. “Some ties grow deeper than whatever banner flies above the battlefield, Lady Proudmoore. I am willing to trust you, though I do not know you.”

Jaina’s face screwed up. Light, but she never could stand the vague proverbs of druids; they couldn’t just state something in good honest language. “Why?”

“Because _she_ trusts you.” Farodin nodded towards the stairs that Thalyssra had just descended.

Jaina inhaled a sharp breath before she could stop herself. Her eyes flickered towards the staircase, then back to Farodin, who was watching her with an expression that was -- if anything -- understanding. Though what he understood, she could hardly fathom herself. Not yet, in any case. Not now. 

Slowly, Jaina said, “You want the arcan’dor to reach maturity and bloom.”

Farodin inclined his head in agreement. “And you want to save your loved ones from a fate worse than death.”

Jaina gave a curt nod. 

“Then I will speak to the First Arcanist on your behalf.” 

At that, Jaina could not help but huff with wry laughter. “And how is that supposed to change her mind?” 

“It isn’t.” He swept a hand to his chest in farewell. “Seek harmony.” 

And without another word, he folded himself into the shape of a raven in a wisp of smoke, the undersides of its wings bearing a band of jade feathers. Jaina stared after the bird, which soared around the branches of the arcan’dor before vanishing. Then, shaking her head, she muttered to herself. “Damn druids.” 

 

* * *

 

Halfway through day three, both Valtrois and Oculeth barely left their respective workstations. Valtrois’ usual scrupulous attention to grooming had completely dried up, and Oculeth only ever glanced up for a glass of arcwine infused with an herb stimulant that made his fingers tremble slightly while he worked. Jaina let them be. The one time she had tried to be helpful, Valtrois had snapped something at her in Shalassian that Jaina didn’t need to translate to understand. 

Thalyssra approached Jaina’s partition before their final procedure with a potion of purging. When she rapped lightly on the partition, Jaina glanced up from a copy of the Arcanomicon written in Draconic, with two dictionaries open at different pages on the ground beside her. She had known that Thalyssra would come around with the potion, but somehow she was still surprised; somehow she had thought that one of the others might have been sent instead. 

Thalyssra was many things, but a coward was not one of them.

Jaina marked her page, and shut the book, setting it aside atop one of the open dictionaries. “How are things progressing?”

Thalyssra pulled the screen shut behind her. Her posture was stiff. “Poorly.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that," Jaina said with utmost sincerity.

For a long moment they just looked at one another. Then, Thalyssra approached, holding out the glass vial towards her. “You’ll be pleased to know this is the last of these foul potions you’ll ever have to drink.”

“Thank the Light,” Jaina sighed. 

She leaned forward to take the vial, but Thalyssra did not let it go right away. Instead, both their hands lingered on the glass surface. Jaina froze, looking up from where she sat on her mussed bedroll.

Jaina opened her mouth to break the silence, when Thalyssra spoke first, “The wither has begun to spread to the arcan’dor’s roots. There is no more time.”

She let go of the vial, and Jaina was able to take it. The glass felt like a lodestone in her hand, weighing her arm down. Her mouth was dry. “Oculeth and Valtrois -?”

Thalyssra shook her head. “They’ve done all they could in the time given them. And now I have -” she paused, “- come around to the fact that we cannot wait any longer.” 

Jaina took a moment to run her thumb over the textured glass of the vial. “What did Farodin say that made you change your mind?”

Thalyssra’s gaze was steady and unblinking beneath the shadow cast by her hood. “He didn’t. My mind was already made up. All he said was that regardless of my choice, I needed to reconcile the fact that I have come to value your life above theirs.”

Mouth dry, Jaina tried to think of some reply, but nothing seemed suitable. 

Thalyssra turned to leave. She paused before pushing open one of the screens. “Tomorrow, should Oculeth and Valtrois not have their devices ready, I will need to call upon you and make good on my promise.”

Jaina’s grip tightened around the vial. “I’ll be ready.”

 

* * *

 

She wasn’t ready. 

As usual, a broken night of sleep -- courtesy of the potion, the itching, and the near-constant headaches -- found Jaina muzzy and exhausted the next morning. She was half asleep when someone burst into her partition and shook her shoulder. 

“Wake up.” 

Jaina jerked. Squinting, she rasped, “What -?”

“It’s time,” Valtrois said.  

It still took her a second to figure out what Valtrois was talking about. Then the adrenaline hit like a punch to the gut. Jaina scrambled upright, kicking off her blankets as she did so. 

“Where are the others?” Jaina asked, running her hands through her hair in an attempt to tame it somewhat.

Valtrois gave a vague wave of her hand before rubbing at her eyes. “Downstairs, setting up the preparations.” She had to stifle a yawn.

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m not the one you should be worried about.” Then Valtrois added, “You won’t need to get changed. Let’s go.”

Jaina let go of the clothes she had been rifling through. Valtrois was already stepping into Shal’Aran and waiting for her, and she didn’t have time to grab the enchanted mask. Instead, she grabbed her Kul Tiran cloak and draped it across her shoulders. She was tugging the deep cowl over her head as she stepped outside. As it turned out, this was all for naught; Shal’Aran was entirely empty of people. Signs of life were still scattered around, but everyone had presumably been herded to a safer place.

Clutching the cloak tightly around her, Jaina followed after Valtrois. They descended the spiral stairs beneath the arcan’dor. As they did so, Jaina dared to glance up at the tree. The once silvered bark was now gripped with streaks of iron that twisted all along the symmetrical trunk, and the ends of its branches curled with wither like leaves in autumn. Tearing her eyes away, Jaina quickened her step. 

Two floors beneath the great, dying tree, the usual corner of the chamber where Jaina and Thalyssra performed their procedures had been prepared as it always was. A few screens. A low table stretched with cushions and fabric. A copper-tipped bone needle, and vial of moonglow ink upon the floor. Except this time, it was not only Thalyssra who was waiting for her. Oculeth stood with Farodin and Thalyssra near the centre of the chamber. All three of them fell silent and glanced up when Jaina came into view. 

While Valtrois could walk across the chamber floor without any issue, Jaina grimaced and had to pick her way carefully, avoiding the complex web of leylines that merged directly beneath the arcan’dor. She lifted the hems of her nightgown around her ankles, and walked with bare feet. By the time she reached the very centre of the room, the others were all waiting for her.

“You’re looking radiant this morning, Lady Proudmoore,” Oculeth greeted her with a weary smile. His usually impeccable posture drooped somewhat. 

“Thank you. It’s my natural pallor.” 

He chuckled, and the corner of Valtrois’ mouth quirked though she made no remark. 

“Let’s save the humour for later, shall we?” Thalyssra said. She looked towards Oculeth and Valtrois. “Is everything in place?” 

“The projectors are ready,” Valtrois gestured to a number of squat metallic columns positioned around the room. “Once the mana-storm has been sparked, they’ll do the rest.”

“And I’ve set up a perimeter to catch any overflow,” Oculeth confirmed.

“Good.” Thalyssra nodded, then turned to Jaina. “All you need to do is set the storm in motion, at which point we will pull you out and complete your final procedure over there.”

“Right.” Straightening her shoulders, Jaina paused. “And if it all goes to custard, so to speak?” 

Behind Thalyssra, she could see Oculeth mouth the word _‘custard?’_ to Valtrois, who shrugged.

“Then we have Valtrois’ enchanted wrappings,” Thalyssra answered, her voice far too calm. She grasped Jaina’s shoulder warmly, her eyes even warmer. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

With one last squeeze, Thalyssra let go of Jaina’s shoulder and stepped back. She and the others went to stand along the very edge of the room. Jaina shifted her weight from foot to foot. 

They were all watching her, waiting. She could feel the hum of energy vibrating against her ankles and calves, making the hem of her nightgown shiver. Jaina stood at the epicenter of the room, with every leyline in Suramar directed to the space just beneath her bare feet. 

And nothing happened.

“What are you waiting for?” Oculeth called between cupped hands. 

“I don’t know!” Jaina tapped the toes of one foot against the floor, sending little spirals of light curling into the air like steam. “Is it on?” 

Valtrois glared at her. “I did _not_ just hear you say that.” 

“Well, you come over here and make a mana-storm, then!” 

To Jaina’s surprise, Valtrois began marching across the room right for her. 

Raising her hands in a gesture of nervous surrender, Jaina said, “I didn’t actually mean -!”

Valtrois did not stop until she was standing right in front of her. Then, she loomed over Jaina, her face dark with fury. “Is _this_ on?” She rapped her knuckles against the side of Jaina’s head. 

Jaina spluttered and knocked Valtrois’ hand away. _“Excuse me -?”_

“After all this time, you’re going to play the coward now?” Valtrois snapped.

Jaina’s mouth worked, but no noise came out in spite of herself. Indignation bubbled in her chest.

“This was your idea!” Valtrois pointed to the tree above them, then back at Jaina. “You practically begged us to let you do this, and suddenly you can’t?” 

A flush crept up Jaina’s neck. “That’s not -!”

“This oversaturation of mana is all you have left of your pathetic little city!” Valtrois jabbed a finger against Jaina’s shoulder, at where the inscriptions had been carved all over her skin. “And you can’t even make the destruction of Theramore worth it, can you?” 

The words knocked the wind right out of Jaina. She felt like she had been punched in the gut. The edges of her vision narrowed with encroaching light. She shook her head against it. “Stop it,” she said, but it came out as a feeble mumble.

Either Valtrois did not hear, or she did not care. Every word she spoke lodged itself in Jaina’s throat like a barb. “I suppose they all died for nothing, then. You absorbed some of that mana bomb, but you couldn’t save them. You weren’t enough. And you’re still not enough. You’ve come all this way, just to let everyone down once again.”

_“Stop!”_

Jaina shut her eyes, but all she could see was a vast, all-consuming white. Energy arced across her until she vibrated with it, until she could feel a seething burn rush along every vein. Instinctively, she flinched back from it. Her breathing came in short rapid gasps, but slowly the surge of mana faded to a manageable hum beneath her skin, waiting to resurface at the slightest provocation.

When she opened her eyes again -- one at a time, as though she were afraid of what she might see -- it was to find that Valtrois had backed up a few paces. Bright arcs of energy continued to race along the ground like lightning, occasionally sparking along Jaina’s legs and hands. 

“Well,” Valtrois sighed, running a hand through her long hair. “Making you angry almost worked. I am sorry about that, by the way.”

Jaina was saved from responding by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Thalyssra stood to the side. She tilted her head back towards the perimeter of the room. “Thank you, Valtrois. Could you give us some space please?”

Valtrois went to rejoin the others with only an apologetic glance in Jaina’s direction. Jaina scratched at her arms, at her shoulders and wrists. The buzz of mana was almost unbearable. 

Gently, Thalyssra took her hands to stop her from scratching. “What’s wrong?”

Jaina choked out a watery laugh. “What isn’t? I’m about to throw my life away for Horde sympathisers.” The more she thought about the whole situation, the funnier it became. She laughed again, shaking her head. “You know what the funniest part is?” Jaina pulled one of her hands free of Thalyssra’s grip to wipe at her eyes. “It’s probably the best decision I’ve ever made.” 

“Jaina -”

"How will I know how to stop? Can I even stop once it starts? What if I can't? What if -?" Jaina cut herself off, and bit her bottom lip. She took a deep shaking breath. She couldn’t look Thalyssra in the face. "I don't want to be the bomb that destroys the last hope of salvation for your people."

For a long moment, Thalyssra made no reply. She dropped Jaina’s hand, and Jaina felt something burning in her chest. 

“We have a saying in Suramar,” Thalyssra said a fluid Shalassian phrase, and then translated. _“‘To lead is to stand alone.’_ It means only those who bear the weight of leadership can truly appreciate it. But I have not stood alone these last few months. Nor do you stand alone now.” 

She stepped close. She cupped Jaina’s cheek with one hand, and leaned her head down. For a fleeting, electrifying instant, Jaina thought Thalyssra was going to kiss her. 

“I am here,” Thalyssra murmured. “Whatever happens, I am here.”

She waited for Jaina to nod, before stepping away. Thalyssra retreated to the walls with the others, leaving Jaina in the centre of the chamber once more. 

The leylines hummed their eerie song, and to the south the Nightwell burned like a distant star. Rather than try to push the noise away, Jaina closed her eyes and let the sound sweep over her into a drone. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, slowing with every deep, even inhalation, until it kept time with the Nightwell’s haunting song. She did not feel her hands unclench at her sides, nor the drift of cloth as the edges of her cloak stirred as if in a breeze. Eventually even the song faded in the wake of her heartbeat, until there was nothing else. 

Energy hummed beneath her skin like a pulse, like a counter ticking away the seconds before the inevitable. The memory of that day lingered within her very blood even now, in this very moment, and for all moments that existed after. She would never be purged of it, the grief -- like groping in the dark for something that no longer existed. Always the seconds, the days, the years arrayed before her like a spectacle of knives, each no less sharp than the last. 

She could not walk through the streets without people seeing a smoking crater at her feet, could not open her mouth without people hearing the names of the dead upon her every syllable. She was a ghost trailed by ghosts, dragging the souls of the past behind her, while far above a bomb would forever be falling from the sky. 

The pulse ticked faster in her ears. All it took was a few seconds of exposure -- a stumble on the way through the portal, angry panicked words with Rhonin, being pushed even while trying to drag him through with her -- and now the bomb was in her hands. It was in her teeth. It was in her stomach, and in the cage of her ribs. 

The pulse stopped, and absolute silence followed. Jaina’s eyes snapped open, and in every direction a far-reaching expanse of energy rippled outward. The world was washed with light. 

And then nothing. 

 

* * *

 

Every noise was an echo. The world was dark, as if cast in perennial night, through which shadowy shapes moved. Jaina was lying on her back. Her eyes were open, but she could hardly see, as if viewing the world through a layer of thin gauze. She squinted, but it didn't seem to help.

“Welcome back,” a warm, familiar voice murmured. 

The silhouette kneeling over her bore only the barest resemblance to the Thalyssra Jaina remembered, a faint shadow with but the impression of a face.

Jaina struggled to sit up. “Did it work?”

A hand was placed on her shoulder, and gently pushed her prone again, until Jaina had settled back amongst the cushions. “It worked,” Thalyssra assured her. “There have just been some complications.”

“What -?”

“The important thing is that you’re alive and stable,” Thalyssra continued. She did not remove her hand from Jaina’s shoulder. Jaina could only faintly feel the warm weight of her hand, as if the touch were through layers of thick cloth. “After you triggered the mana-storm we needed, you slumped to the floor. We finished your final procedure as quickly as we could, and -”

“But the tree -?” Jaina tried to interrupt.

“The tree is fine. It is fruiting.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jaina raised her hand to her face. “Thank the Light. Can I get this thing off -?”

The hand moved to her wrist, pushing her hand away from the bandages covering her eyes and obscuring her vision. “No. Those need to stay for at least three more days.”

Jaina went very still. She allowed her arm to be lowered. “What happens in three days?”

For a moment Thalyssra did not answer. “We see if your body beneath has recovered, or if you require more enchanted wrappings to keep you from unravelling at the seams of existence.”

Jaina stared at her. Then, her eyes drifted downwards to her own body. The sheet that had been covering her had fallen away when she tried sitting up, revealing a torso swathed in strips of long pale cloth. The edges bristled with heat and cold pale light. Beneath, Jaina could just barely make out something more substantial, something that once was flesh but struggled to remember it. 

“This -” Jaina cast about for an appropriate comment. Finally she settled on, “- could have been much worse.”

At that, Thalyssra laughed. It sounded watery, but then again everything in this state sounded watery, and Jaina could not properly see her face to tell what sort of expression Thalyssra wore. 

When Thalyssra stopped laughing, she said, “Though it could have been better.”

“Well, obviously it could have been better. I’m an Ethereal.”

“Temporarily,” Thalyssra corrected her. “You’re a temporary Ethereal.”

“I bet all Ethereals think that they’re temporary Ethereals.”

“All Ethereals had their bodies completely ripped apart on a molecular level during the assault on K’aresh. I’m pleased to inform you that your body is very much intact.” After a pause, Thalyssra added, “For the most part.”

“Consider me reassured,” Jaina said, dryly. 

“Ah, your sense of humour remains. That is an excellent sign.”

“Apparently, it’s all I have left.”

“You have more than you realise.” She gave Jaina’s hand a soft tug, as if to urge her upright. “Would you like to try to stand? I think you’re well enough for a walk, and the others would like to see you.”

For a brief moment, Jaina hesitated. It was enough.

Thalyssra’s voice softened. “If you would prefer to remain out of sight, that is your choice, of course. I will not force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” 

Her thumb was tracing a line across the back of Jaina’s hand. Jaina could hardly feel it. She stared down at the phantom touch of their hands. Thalyssra was a faint shadow, like the hollow impression of a person drawn from memory. Jaina’s own hand was light made flesh, searing bright through strips of enchanted cloth. The only things Jaina could see that had substance apart from herself were the inscriptions on Thalyssra’s skin, crawling with mana, and the staff over Thalyssra’s shoulder. 

“Nobody knows except Oculeth, Valtrois, and Farodin,” Thalyssra murmured. “If anonymity is still what you’re worried about. Nobody will recognise you. Especially not like this.”

Steeling herself, Jaina nodded. “I’ll go.” 

Thalyssra may have smiled at her, but Jaina could not tell. She helped Jaina rise to her feet. As the sheet fell away and Jaina stood, she stared down at her cloth-wrapped feet and legs. It was one thing to understand that the only thing currently keeping her body together were enchanted wrappings, and quite another to actually see it. 

"Here."

Jaina glanced up to find Thalyssra's silhouette holding something out to her. Slowly, Jaina took the object, only to realise it was her Kul Tiran cloak. Like this, she could barely see the traditional Navy blue of the material, and the fur draped across the shoulders for additional protection against the weather of her homeland. When Jaina swung it over herself and drew up the hood, it did little to disguise what she was, but it did make her feel surprisingly better.

"Thank you."

Thalyssra inclined her head, "Of course. If you require anything else -"

"I'll let you know."

Jaina had to walk slowly. Every obstacle in her path just appeared to be another shadow. She stumbled on the first step of the staircase, and Thalyssra caught her arm to stabilise her. And yet the oddest part about the whole thing was that her toe did not ache despite stubbing it against the stone floor. 

“Are you alright?” Thalyssra moved her hand down so that their fingers tangled together. Jaina had never wished she weren’t covered head to toe in cloth wrappings more than in that moment. 

“I’m fine. It’s just difficult to see,” Jaina admitted. 

Thalyssra did not let go of her hand as they continued up the stairs, and Jaina did her best to focus on the staff slung across Thalyssra’s back, leading her on like a lantern through the dark. Jaina followed, half-blind and sluggish. Like moving through water, the air always fighting back. At one point, she wondered if she pushed off the floor hard enough, would she drift towards the ceiling. She gripped Thalyssra’s hand tighter. 

They stopped on the floor beneath the main level of Shal’Aran.

“Wait here,” Thalyssra said. “I’ll go get them, so you don’t have to walk through the crowd.”

In a brief panic, Jaina tightened her hold on Thalyssra’s hand before coming to her senses. 

“I’ll be back in just a moment. Have I broken a promise to you, yet?” Thalyssra squeezed back, slowly disentangling their fingers, and then walking away. 

Jaina huffed a joyless little laugh. “No,” she said to the empty air. 

The floor directly beneath the arcan’dor was a latticework of leylines, like veins or roots plunged deep into the ground. The effect only gave her a sense of mild vertigo. Tearing her gaze away, she looked up, where the arcan’dor seared the air white with energy. The tree burned bright enough to make the rest of the world slough away into a dim soup. 

It was like being back in the Sanctum of Order, beneath the spell of the Nightwell. Potent arcane energy flowed from the arcan’dor in crystalline eddies like a song. She could almost taste the mana in the air, pure and rich. 

“I wasn’t aware the Consortium had a vested interest in Suramar,” a voice said.

Jaina jerked around, trying to find who had spoken to her. She squinted, but it did not help. A silhouette stood before her, broad-shouldered and with the faint mimicry of a face, like a smudged child’s drawing of facial features. 

She tried to remember what Ethereals sounded like, and finally settled on, “Can I be of assistance?” 

The figure may have smiled. She could not tell. “Only if you trade for gold.”

Jaina spread her hands. “I have nothing to sell.”

“That’s not very like your kind,” the figure chuckled, a deep sound. “But don’t worry. It’s information I’m after. I’m looking for someone. A woman. You may have seen her here. Lady Jaina Proudmoore.”

Hearing her own name, she hesitated for just a moment too long. 

The figure took a step closer. “I see you know her.”

“Passably,” Jaina replied in what she hoped wasn’t too dry a tone. 

“If you could deliver her a message, I would make it worth your while.” And with that, the figure held out something in their hand. 

Hesitant, Jaina took it. A quick look inside revealed it to be a bag heavy with gold. She could just see the glint of light across the stamped metallic faces. 

In truth, she had little need of gold, but appearances must be kept. She tucked the bag away into an interior pocket of her cloak. “What is your message?” 

“Tell her Khadgar hopes she is on the road to recovery, and that she always has a place among the Kirin Tor, should she ever wish to rejoin us. I’d hoped to tell her myself, but the First Arcanist is surprisingly tight-lipped about her patient’s whereabouts. And fair enough, I suppose.” The last he sighed with a shake of his head. “If she should want to seek me out, I will be helping in Suramar as much as I can in the coming weeks.” 

Jaina studied him for a long moment. Knowing now who he was, she could almost recognise him: the hang of his cloak, the cut of his hair and jaw. “I will pass along your message.” 

Something about his face shifted, and he nodded. “A pleasure doing business. My best to Haramad.” 

His form bent in upon itself and flew away. Jaina sighed to herself. She had always hated when druids did that; Khadgar, while not a druid, was no exception. 

She was weighing the bag of gold in her hand, when she heard: “And what’s that you have there?”

Jaina turned to find three shapes walking towards her. One she recognised as Thalyssra only by the grace of her staff’s familiar arcane energy. 

Jaina gave the bag a little bounce in the palm of her cloth-wrapt hand. “Someone has already mistaken me for a member of the Consortium.”

“Oh, good! You can raise some money for the cause over the next few days, at least.” There was no mistaking that was Valtrois. 

“Yes, and it’s all going to Oculeth’s exemplary research,” Jaina said.

_“What?”_

One of the figures raised a triumphant fist into the air. “Yes!” 

Thalyssra on the other hand sounded concerned, “What did this... _client_ want from you?”

“Nothing I didn’t already have.” Jaina tossed the bag of gold towards Oculeth, and he caught it with a graceful mock bow in her direction. 

"So," Oculeth leaned forward, and though his voice sounded excited, Jaina could not make out the expression on his face. "What's it like?" 

Jaina thought for a moment before answering. "I don't itch anymore."

At that, Valtrois shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. “Better than nothing, I suppose. Though I was hoping for something a bit more -” she motioned towards Jaina “- substantial, given your current condition.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was: For enough gold, I will reveal to you the secrets of the universe.” 

“That’s more like it. Do I get a friends and family discount?”

“Yes. It’s twice the normal price.”

Valtrois made a rude gesture with her fingers. 

 

* * *

 

 

The days passed in a blur. Jaina had very little grasp of the passage of time. She could only tell it was night when Shal’Aran fell quiet, and few people wandered the upper floor. The confrontation with Khadgar made her bolder; she braved the upper floor in the full confidence that she would not be recognised. 

To her great relief, nobody else tried to approach her for trade with the Consortium, though she presumed members of both the Horde and Alliance continued to flow to and from the shelter of Shal’Aran. Even spending a few days as an Ethereal, she could not get used to faces and objects. Few dared speak to her directly. Those that did were usually after the latest news from Shattrath City. 

A Nightborne child tried to speak with her once, but a parent quickly rushed over and dragged them away. Jaina would have laughed, had she not been so strongly reminded of Derek. Also laughing would have only made the situation worse. A lot worse. 

It felt like only an afternoon. Like a single, long, unbroken day from the summers of her childhood memories. One moment, she was idly strolling beneath the arcan’dor’s branches with Farodin, discussing the finer details of the Emerald Dream’s connection to the arcane. The next, Thalyssra was leading her to the lower levels to remove the cloth bandages. 

“Has it been three days already?” Jaina asked. Valtrois and Oculeth trailed after them, talking amongst themselves in low tones. 

Thalyssra gave her an odd look. “It’s been nearly four. I thought it best to err on the side of caution. 

Back in the chambers beneath Shal’Aran, Thalyssra shut Valtrois and Oculeth out from the partition despite their complaints. 

“What if you need help?” Valtrois insisted.

“Then you’ll be the first to know,” Thalyssra said, shutting the screen so that she and Jaina were left in relative peace. She took Jaina’s cloak and hung it. As she did so, Jaina sat upon the low table, where she had spent so many hours toiling beneath Thalylssra’s needle. Cushions sank beneath her weight. 

When Thalyssra turned to her, she knelt at Jaina’s feet. Carefully, she untucked the first strip of fabric from around one ankle. Then she paused, and glanced up. “Are you ready?” 

Jaina’s hands tightened around the edge of the table. She nodded. 

“Tell me if you feel anything strange.”

“Define: _‘strange.’_ ” 

Already starting to slowly unwind the cloth, Thalyssra shrugged. “These are uncharted waters, I’m afraid. Even if it’s an odd feeling, or upset stomach -- don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“Right,” Jaina breathed.

Thalyssra did not hasten. She guided her hands around Jaina’s leg with utmost precision, making sure to neatly roll the strips even as she unravelled them. One leg was revealed. Thalyssra pinned another roll of cloth shut with a small needle, and set it aside with the others on the ground. Another leg was unwrapped without incident, but Jaina blinked when she stared down at her bare ankles.

“They’ve -” she nodded towards her own legs. “- gone dark. Like a light dimming.” 

Thalyssra stopped. She held up a pin between thumb and forefinger. “Can you feel this?” 

Reflexively, Jaina flinched when Thalyssra prodded her still wrapped arm with the needle, but the expected pinch of pain never came. She shook her head. 

“How about this?” 

When Thalyssra poked at her ankle, Jaina jerked her foot back. 

“Ow!”

Thalyssra placed the needle aside. “I’m going to take that as a good sign. Let me know if anything else changes. Could you stand for me, please?” 

Jaina stood until Thalyssra had unwrapped her up to the waist, at which point she was allowed to sit back down. As each strip was unwound, more of her skin was revealed, and the cold air prickled. 

“Here.” 

Jaina felt a blanket being draped across her lap. She pulled it over herself with a grateful shiver.

When Thalyssra had finished unravelling Jaina’s arms, Oculeth’s voice said from over the screens, “Can we at least come in for the final reveal?” 

“It’s nothing we haven’t seen before!” Valtrois added. 

Thalyssra looked at Jaina, but made no move. “It’s up to you.” 

“Let them in, or we’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Standing, Thalyssra made her way towards one of the screens. She pulled it back and stepped aside. She said something in Shalassian that may have been a warning or simply an instruction, for both Valtrois and Oculeth immediately stood quietly on the outskirts of the partition. One of them gave Jaina a little wave, but with her face and shoulders still wrapped, she could not tell which.

As Thalyssra returned, she started with a strip of cloth wound around Jaina’s chest and shoulders. “Almost there,” she murmured. “Still nothing?”

Jaina shrugged the blanket a little higher as each ribbon of enchanted cloth revealed more skin. “Just a little cold.” 

Thalyssra worked her way up, peeling away layer after layer. Jaina kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, wary of any sudden change that might overcome her the moment it was all finished. She could feel her hair trickle loose down her back and around her shoulders in strands as it fell free of its bonds. As the last strip was removed, Jaina braced herself, shoulders tense, face screwed up, eyes closed. 

Someone tapped her shoulder, and she opened her eyes. The world still held a trace of darkness, like shadows clinging thickly to the corners of a page, but she blinked it away and soon everything came into focus.  

Three unfamiliar faces gazed down at her. They were all of them Nightborne, city-sleek and appearing as though they were ready to attend a royal court at a moment’s notice. Jaina was suddenly very aware that she was very naked beneath the blanket. Clearing her throat, she discreetly tugged the velvety cloth just a little bit higher up her chest, and held it more firmly in place there. 

“Don’t go all bashful on us now,” one of the Nightborne said in Valtrois’ voice. Scythe-like ornaments made of pure beaten gold arced over her shoulders. Jaina could read the runes stitched into the woman’s long robes that enchanted the ornaments to float in midair. The woman smiled, revealing long, sharp ivory teeth. “I won’t stand for human prudishness after all we’ve been through. Besides, who do you think helped wrap you up in the first place?”

“Now, now, Valtrois,” said the man in Oculeth’s distinct timbre. “If you want to make our guest blush, that’s not the way to go about it.”

And with that he swooped down to clasp Jaina’s face between his hands and kiss both of her cheeks. Jaina spluttered and blinked as he pulled away. He was grinning down at the flush that had risen to her cheeks, and said, “Forgive me, Lady Proudmoore, but I have been waiting to do that for weeks.”

“It’s fine,” Jaina said faintly.

“That’s quite enough, you two,” the last Nightborne admonished her colleagues, and Jaina started at the sound of her voice.

Wide-eyed, Jaina turned to look at the last of the three standing over her. The woman held her head at a tilt as she watched Jaina. Her hands were clasped, and her fingers bled with silvery arcane energy. Beneath the hood she wore, which cast her face in partial shadow, her eyes gleamed like pale starlight.

Jaina swallowed; she recognised the robes this woman wore -- rich, and heavy, and plum-dark. When the robes had been in Jaina’s possession, she had never imagined what they would look like when worn. Now, she had to jerk her gaze away from the slits in the fabric that revealed a generous length of thigh.

“How are you feeling?” Thalyssra asked.

“Fine,” Jaina answered. And for the first time in a long time, it was not a lie. She touched her own chest with one hand, letting herself grow accustomed to the idea that she was not merely bound light and energy. The tattoos glowed faintly with every heartbeat. Jaina stared at the back of her hand, at the elegant patterns engraved upon her arms and shoulders. Perhaps she was still light and energy, knit together by magic and sinew. Perhaps she was something else entirely. “Good. I feel good.”

Behind them, Valtrois said in a smug tone, “I told you it would work.” 

Thalyssra smiled warmly. As she leaned down to gently grasp Jaina’s shoulders, Jaina froze, gripped with the sudden thought that Thalyssra was going to do as Oculeth had done. Instead, Thalyssra placed a soft kiss on her brow. “It’s good to have you back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've submitted my master's thesis, which means I finally had time to work on this story.


	7. Chapter 7

> _ “But the landscape of devastation is still a landscape. There is beauty in ruins.” _
> 
> _ — Susan Sontag, from ‘Regarding The Pain Of Others’ _
> 
>  

* * *

* * *

“You will get used to it,” they told her. “Eventually.”

Jaina did not believe them. 

The enchanted wrappings were gone, but some days she still felt like an Ethereal. It was something about the ground. Sometimes, even a week after her body had been fully healed, it felt as though the earth did not exist beneath her feet. As though she walked upon a pane of glass above the distant drop of the void far below.

She no longer felt an uncomfortable rush of mana when she stood on leylines, but she still avoided stepping on them for the first week. It was an automatic reaction she could not control, flinching when she expected to be burned. Jaina could not tell if this was made better or worse by the fact that she could no longer physically see the leylines. She could sense their vague location, but it was more like the buzz of a mosquito forever flitting just out of sight. 

“Oh, that’s just how it is for us,” Valtrois said when Jaina questioned her about it. 

They were standing over a darkened teleportation pad in Oculeth’s corner of Shal’Aran. Oculeth himself was on his hands and knees, attempting to repair the teleportation pad, which had gone dark the day before without warning, the portal anchored above it winking out of existence with a splutter. Jaina and Valtrois had their hands full of various tools, but weren’t paying any attention to what he was doing.

Jaina still wore the enchanted mask. Shal’Aran was bustling with more people than ever. And now that the Nightborne had a reliable cure to mana addiction, the final fight against the Legion began in earnest. Whispers of the Dusk Lily’s insurrection grew into murmurs, grew into shouts, grew into warsongs. High ranking members of both the Horde and Alliance flooded to Suramar daily.

For all her talk to Farodin about choosing sides, Jaina still hadn’t picked hers openly.

“Us?” Jaina repeated. Wordlessly, Oculeth held out his hand, and she placed a mote extractor into it. His fingers closed around the handle, and he continued working with the instrument.

“Us. Nightborne. And, well -” Valtrois gave Jaina the once-over with her gaze. “-whatever you are now.”

“Alive,” Oculeth supplied helpfully. Though he did not look up, he did give the mote extractor a little wave for emphasis. 

“She was never dead to begin with.” Valtrois took the mote extractor and replaced it with a scoped barrel forged from leystone ore. 

“Technically -”

“No, not even technically,” Valtrois snapped waspishly.

“Technically,” Oculeth continued, undeterred. He mounted the scoped barrel into a hollow section of the transportation pad made by disassembling its metal facing. “One could make the argument that she was neither living nor dead when she was an Ethereal.”

Valtrois looked at Jaina and her voice was flat. “Don’t listen to him. You were always alive.”

All too well Jaina remembered what it had felt like. It hadn’t been that long ago, after all. The sensation of drifting through space and time like an unquantifiable entity, untethered by death or physical feeling. 

In a way, she agreed with Oculeth, but she certainly didn’t say that aloud. Mostly because she didn’t want to think about it too hard herself. 

A thought struck her, and she said, “And what about now?”

At that, both Oculeth and Valtrois peered at her with curious expressions. Oculeth had paused in his work to answer, “I would wager you’re very much alive, Lady Proudmoore.”

“No, I mean -” Jaina had to pause to collect her thoughts and place them all in neat order. “Nightborne and humans have vastly different lifespans, but you said it yourself: I’m neither here nor there, so to speak. So, what happens now?”

For a moment, neither of them responded. Then, Valtrois tapped an instrument against her opposite hand and said, “The inscriptions make it so that your physical body acts the same way the enchanted wrappings do for Ethereals. They both contain your energy, channel it, and stop your body from further deterioration.”

“Which,” Oculeth added, his words slow and thoughtful, “could also refer to aging. We can’t be sure for certain how long you will live now. As long as other Nightborne? I doubt it.”

“But longer than any human,” Valtrois said.

“Oh, without a doubt,” he agreed. “Could I please have the -? Thank you.”

Valtrois handed him a vial of what appeared to be thick, viscous demon’s blood. It burned with fel-green energy and stank of sulfur when he unstoppered the vial and poured a few drops of its contents down the hollow leyline barrel. The interactions between them were, as always, comfortable. They moved with an ease in each other’s presence, the same way they did with Thalyssra and even with Jaina. 

They were the same people, Jaina knew. They moved, acted, and sounded the same, but they looked so completely different. It had been nearly two weeks now since Jaina had been unwrapped and declared stable, and still she had a difficult time reconciling the fact that these people were the same Valtrois and Oculeth who had dragged her into one of the most genuine friendships she’d formed in -- well. Far too long. 

Not to mention Thalyssra. But that was different again.

Jaina pushed that nascent thought aside very quickly. Thalyssra was too busy for any sort of nonsense these days. Which is what that sort of dreadful, sinking hope was: nonsense. Nothing good would come of it, Jaina was sure. 

There was no getting used to this. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was an unreal existence. She peered around every corner as if expecting something to leap from the shadows. She encountered every good fortune with suspicion. Hope was dangerous. Hope was frightening. Hope had failed her in the past. Hope was not something she had ever thought to feel again. Certainly not like this.  

“Is everything alright?” Valtrois asked.

Jaina started. It took her a moment to realise that Valtrois was not speaking to her but to Oculeth.

He removed the barrel from the ground, setting it and the vial aside so that he could study the dismantled teleportation pad and scratch at the top of his head. “On this end everything is fine, but that’s precisely what worries me. It means Thalyssra was right. The teleporter for the Waning Crescent was intentionally tampered with on the other side.”

Valtrois sighed out an elegant and exaggerated,  _ “Fuck.”  _

“My thoughts exactly.”

“So, who did it?” Jaina asked. 

Oculeth began putting the teleportation pad back together, sliding the heavy metal plate back into place. “I have an inkling, but we should send one of our Horde friends to investigate inside the city itself. Valtrois, would you update Thalyssra and ask if -?”

“Already on it.” Valtrois was walking towards Oculeth’s heavy work station, and placed the tools she had been holding atop the desk. She did not bother lining them up neatly. She made an abortive movement towards the stairs spiraling beneath the arcan’dor, but stopped. Suddenly, she whirled about, her eyes narrowed, and pointed at Jaina. “Don’t go anywhere. You’re not allowed to leave without saying goodbye.”

Jaina blinked, taken aback. “I wasn’t planning on it.” 

Valtrois gave her a knowing look.

Shifting her weight between her feet, Jaina added guiltily, “Not anymore, at least.”

With a suspicious grunt, Valtrois said to Oculeth, “Fix her with a tracking beacon.”

“I said I wouldn’t!” Jaina insisted, indignant.

“That won’t be necessary,” Oculeth said, affixing magnetic bonds to the teleportation plate so that it stayed put.

“Thank you!” Jaina said. 

“Those leyline inscriptions of hers have a unique enough magical signature. She’s like a piece of the Nightwell floating around, and -- once known -- that signature could pinpoint her in a crowded street.”

“Good,” Valtrois said, turning to leave once more. 

Jaina opened her mouth to protest, but whatever she had been about to say died on her lips. She glanced down at the back of one hand. The runic markings etched into her skin gleamed, infused with their own silvery light that pulsed with every heartbeat. 

Ever since the arcane wrappings had been removed, she no longer endured headaches or itching. She could cast spells of any calibre without threat of self-collapse, a theory which she had tested only a few days ago, when she and Thalyssra had gone just south of Moonguard Stronghold for precisely that purpose. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and Jaina’s spellcasting had felt exactly as it had before the destruction of Theramore. Apart from the heightened sensation of mana flowing through every vein, as if the procedure now made her aware of even the barest trace of arcane energy within herself. And perhaps it did. 

Oculeth rose to his feet and dusted off his hands. Valtrois had descended the stairs in search of Thalyssra, leaving him and Jaina in relative solitude. As alone as anyone got in Shal’Aran these days. 

His usual smile was gone, but there remained a softness around his keen eyes. “You could veil your magical signature so that nobody would be any the wiser. I could teach you, but it would require you to maintain concentration for that duration of the effect.”

Jaina considered that, then shrugged. “So long as you’re the only people who know it, I don’t mind.”

That familiar smile of his returned, but it was small. “Have you asked Thalyssra about why she chose these particular designs for your tattoos?” 

“No.” She moved to set down the instruments she was holding beside those Valtrois had dumped atop the workbench. Except Jaina did it with far more care for the instruments themselves. “Does it matter?”

Oculeth answered with a noncommittal hum. “Physiologically speaking? Not a whit. Socially speaking? In vast amounts.” 

He moved to stand beside her, and she allowed him to gently take her hand. He lifted it between them. He brushed his thumb against the tattoo on the back of her hand, nudging the cloth of her sleeve up her arm to reveal where the inscriptions wove along her wrist. His own markings stood out against his skin, the contrast stark in comparison to Jaina’s paler complexion. 

“To my people, these are signs. Signifiers.” Oculeth dropped her hand. “You’ve been branded. Wouldn’t you like to know what it means?”

Jaina’s fingers curled into a fist. She had to force her hand to unclench. “I’ll be sure to ask next time.”

 

 

* * *

That was only somewhat of a lie. Jaina was too afraid to broach the topic. In the rare occasions where she screwed her courage to the sticking place, Thalyssra always appeared so busy. Jaina would approach during the day to find Thalyssra engaged in deep conversation with Champions of the Horde and Alliance. During the evening, Jaina stood in the doorway to Thalyssra’s private study two floors beneath the bustle of Shal’Aran, and Thalyssra would be hunched over her desk, so entrenched in her work that she would not notice Jaina’s presence hovering behind her. Once, Jaina found Thalyssra sleeping at her desk, head pillowed by an open book. She still had a quill held loosely between her fingers. 

Jaina let her be. Thalyssra did not need any interruption to her already hectic life, what with all the rebel-rousing and insurgency. 

It was a flimsy excuse, even by her standards. But Jaina clung to it nonetheless. 

That being said, it was a difficult excuse to cling to when Thalyssra approached her instead.

“I’ve been saving this for a special occasion.” Thalyssra held a bottle of arcwine in her hands. It was one of the same bottles that Jaina had brought back from the Twilight Vineyards. That felt like so long ago. “Will you join me?”

Jaina hesitated. She was currently helping Valtrois pass out fruit of the arcan’dor to new arrivals at Shal’Aran. Before she could say anything however, Valtrois took the basket of fruit from her hands and said, “Go. I can do this by myself.”

Jaina went. 

“If you don’t want to we can -” Thalyssra started to say, but Jaina shook her head with a smile.

“No, no. A glass of wine sounds lovely.”

Jaina started towards the stairs, assuming they would be heading down to Thalyssra’s private study, only for a hand on her arm to stop her.

Thalyssra tilted her head. “This way. I thought we might go outside for a change. It’s a warm evening.”

They walked towards the teleportation pads in a corner of Shal’Aran. Oculeth was conspicuously absent, his tools lying about. The portal to the Waning Crescent had been restored, but another portal had been sectioned off with a length of silk rope. 

Thalyssra ducked beneath the rope barrier. “I asked Oculeth to restrict traffic through this one temporarily.”

And without further explanation, she stepped through the portal. Jaina lingered for a moment. Steeling herself, she followed. 

The ruins of Elune’eth overlooked the valley of Meredil. In the distance, the spires of Suramar raked the sky, the Nightwell’s tower foremost among them. The shield surrounding Suramar shimmered in the early evening light like a soap bubble, transparent yet full of colour. 

It was indeed a lovely, warm evening. Spring had draped itself across Suramar. New green shoots broke the loam, and the trees were flowering, purple and white. Thalyssra crossed over to a fallen pillar stretched along the ground and strewn with violet-veined ivy. 

Jaina blinked. Cushions, and wineglasses, and a plank of light food had already been artfully arranged. Either Thalyssra did not notice her hesitation, or chose not to react, for she sat facing the city view, and unstoppered the wine. 

“I don’t know if you realised,” Thalyssra said without turning around. “But you stole a fine vintage for us that day. This has been aged for no less than four centuries.”

They were alone. Jaina cast a quick glance around before removing her mask. Then she moved to sit beside Thalyssra, folding her legs, cross-legged, upon the cushions. She picked up a glass and held it out for Thalyssra to pour the wine. The mask she left on the ground, forgotten. “So, what’s the occasion?”  

“The beginning of the end.” Thalyssra poured one glass, and then the other. She gave the bottle a little twist as she stopped pouring, so as not to spill a single drop. She set the bottle aside. “I’ve just received news that good friend and ally has just been rescued from the Terrace of Order. As we speak, the sigil of the rebellion will be flying over his empty cage.”

Despite the apparent good news, Thalyssra lifted her glass towards Jaina in a mocking salute, before taking a large drink. 

Jaina turned her own glass slowly in her hands, rotating it by the delicate stem. “And yet you sound less than thrilled?”

Thalyssra sighed. She stared into the tide-dark wine of her glass. “I am happy, of course. Finally, we have sparked the rebellion into a wildfire. With it however comes a whole host of other worries.”

“Such as?” Jaina sipped at her wine. There was a heady slope of warmth upon the tongue, more like a mulled wine absent the bite of hard winter spices. 

Reaching into a pocket -- Light only knew where she kept pockets on an outfit like that -- Thalyssra pulled out a folded letter. “I have a meeting with this archmage of yours.” Thalyssra tapped the closed letter against the bowl of her glass. “What was his name again?”

“Khadgar?” 

“Yes. That’s the one.”

Jaina frowned and lifted the glass to her lips for another sip. “How could you not remember his name? I thought you two knew each other.”

The tilt of Thalyssra’s head was inquisitive. “I have never met the man.”

“But -” Slowly Jaina lowered the wine. “That can’t be right. He’s the one who arranged my coming here in the first place. And he said he’d asked you about my condition and whereabouts.”

With a vague wave of her wine glass, Thalyssra said, “I received exactly two letters from the Archmage of the Kirin Tor.” She paused, glancing down at the letter in her hand, then added, “Well, three, actually. If you count the latest correspondence from the warfront.”

“You really just took in a known war criminal without question?”

“Look around,” Thalyssra gestured back towards Shal’Aran, “I’ve surrounded myself with known war criminals. It just depends on who you ask.” 

Jaina laughed, soft and incredulous, and shook her head. “I spent so much of my time here thinking that you were only doing this to curry favour with the Kirin Tor and -- I don’t know -- earn some of their resources for your own means.”

“The same way you thought I was playing both the Horde and the Alliance against one another for my own means?”

“Well, weren’t you?”

Thalyssra’s answering smile glinted with a sharp flash of teeth. “Oh, yes. But that does not mean we cannot hold two opposing ideas in our minds simultaneously. Cunning does not preclude compassion.” 

Being on the receiving end of that look, Jaina could not stop the flush that heated her cheeks. Perhaps it was the wine. She took another drink. As she did so, Thalyssra gazed out towards the city. Despite her smile earlier, she held her jaw taut. 

“You’re worried,” Jaina realised aloud. 

Thalyssra did not answer immediately. She stared out across the night-washed land, her expression clearly visible even beneath the shadow cast by her hood. She worried the letter with her fingers, bright and nimble and rapping the folded parchment against her knee again and again. 

“I have been many things in life. A mage and a teacher before the Sundering. A coward along with the rest of Suramar during the War of the Ancients. A revolutionary only when no other option was available to me. And none of these things help me be a better diplomat.” Thalyssra snorted, a derisive sound. “Most days I feel like a fraud calling myself a leader. What will Tyrande say? My kin of old remember me as one of the Highborne they fought against so bitterly for so long. Worse, they’ll think of my people as relics, ruins of a time when we were great and noble and just, but no longer. How can I possibly convince them Suramar is worth saving?”

Reaching out, Jaina placed her hand over Thalyssra’s to stop her from fidgeting with the letter. Thalyssra’s nervous movements stilled, and Jaina said, "You convinced me that I was worth saving."

Thalyssra snorted softly. "A task for the legends."

"The stuff of heroes.” Jaina looked down at where she stroked the back of Thalyssra’s hand with her thumb. It was easier than meeting her eyes. Even so, when Jaina spoke she could hardly believe the words that came from her mouth. “Even if I might be able to convince Tyrande to drop a ten thousand year old grudge,” she said, "the Kirin Tor have already proven they aren't willing to listen to me. The Alliance are as dedicated to stopping the Legion as any. If all you need to secure their support is to let them think they will be driving away the Legion and destroying the Nightwell in the process, then -”

Jaina let her voice trail off suggestively. Hesitantly, she glanced up to find that Thalyssra was studying her with a veiled expression. “Lady Jaina Proudmoore, are you encouraging me to use the Alliance with the full intention of joining the Horde?”

“I suppose I am.” Jaina grimaced as though a bad taste lingered on the back of her tongue. She tapped her thumb against Thalyssra’s knuckles in faux admonishment before removing her hand. “Don’t make me say it again, though.”

Thalyssra laughed, and the sound was warm, as warm as her gaze. “You’ve come a long way since first we met.”

“Thanks to you. And Oculeth and Valtrois, I suppose,” Jaina added. “Don’t tell them I said that though.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“I know.”

Thalyssra tossed the letter aside to refill her own glass, and held up the bottle towards Jaina in a silent question. Jaina held her glass out to be refilled. For a while all they did was drink in peace and comfortable talk, broken only by moments of easy silence. The wooden plank piled with food diminished, and the blunt little knife perched atop it gathered crumbs. 

Night began to sweep towards the dimmed horizon, and far-flung stars dotted the sky. Like this, Thalyssra seemed more in her element than ever, cast all in twilight and dusky hues. It was all too easy to remember her as the withered mimicry of herself from not so long ago. 

Jaina caught herself staring, and looked abruptly away. She buried her nose in her glass. Beside her, Thalyssra leaned forward to pluck one of the last dark grapes from its vine upon the platter, and eat it. The tattoos upon her arms gleamed in the early evening light. 

Mouth dry despite the drink, Jaina said, “Oculeth told me that I should ask you about my tattoos. Do you know what he meant?”

Thalyssra paused, but it was so small a thing that Jaina wouldn’t have noticed if she had not been watching for a reaction. She seemed to mull over her answer. “I told you once that Nightborne have natural markings that are similar across families. That is true. They are hereditary, but unique. They are demarcations of familial resemblance, like height or hair colour.” She reached out to ghost her fingertips across the markings that glowed on Jaina’s cheek. “These are my family’s markings.”

Jaina’s breath caught in her chest as Thalyssra pulled her hand away. “So, every Nightborne who looks at me will think we’re related somehow?”

“In a sense. From what I understand about humans, Nightborne kinship groups are very different. You might call someone a cousin, but we have specific terminology for everyone’s distinct relation to one another. To call Valtrois my cousin, for instance, would be technically correct, but inadequately descriptive.”

“And what would you call her?”

“There is no exact translation. She is my third cousin’s wife’s sister’s niece on her father’s side but my mother’s side.”

Jaina stared at her. “I swear you just said words right then, but Light knows what they meant.”

That earned a laugh. “It means: you have nothing to worry about. The markings don’t have to mean anything, unless you want them to. After all, what other markings was I supposed to give you? I was always under the impression you were going to leave Suramar after your procedures were finished. How many Nightborne would you ever encounter elsewhere that would make this matter?”

The thought of leaving made Jaina’s stomach clench. When she spoke her voice sounded faint even to her own ears. “I could - I could stay. I could help with your Alliance diplomacy.”

"It's kind of you to offer, but that's not why I would want you to stay."

Jaina looked away. She felt a gentle touch at her chin, turning her back to face Thalyssra. Her head was buzzing with warmth and energy, like the thrum of mana beneath her skin. 

“This was a bad idea,” Jaina murmured. “I did not think it would affect me this much.”

“The wine?”

“No,” Jaina breathed. “No, not that.”

Thalyssra had placed her own glass aside. One of her hands still lingered upon Jaina’s chin, and her thumb traced a line just beneath Jaina’s lower lip. “I would have you stay of your own accord. Not because you have nowhere else to go. Not because this is the only path available to you.”

Before she could think about what she was doing, Jaina allowed her own hand to drift up and grasp Thalyssra’s wrist. She did not pull Thalyssra’s hand away, but instead held it in place, maintaining that touch. “I want to. Even for a little while. One day I will have to leave, but until then -”

“You are always welcome here. For as long as you would like.” Thalyssra moved her hand to curl her fingers at Jaina’s jawline, the pad of her thumb brushing the corner of Jaina’s mouth until Jaina almost forgot how to breath. 

“I want them to mean something. The markings,” Jaina admitted in a rush. “I don’t know what exactly that entails, but I want it.”

Thalyssra smile. Her eyes were twilit, and her words were soft. “They can mean whatever you like.”

“Thalyssra, if you don’t kiss me already, I swear I -”

She did. And for the first time in a long time, sitting amongst the ruins of an ancient civilisation, this was a place that felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think Nightborne kinship systems are like Sudanese kinship systems.
> 
> It's been a pleasure writing this, but I'm glad it's over. 
> 
> originally I had intended to write Jaina's continued involvement all through the insurrection and up to the destruction of the Nightwell. In the end however, this felt like the natural stopping point for this story. 
> 
> Thanks for joining me! I hope you had a good time.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is taken from the following:
> 
> “To be outside a situation so violent as this is to find it inconceivable; to be inside it is to be unable to conceive its end.”
> 
> — Simone Weil, “The Iliad or The Poem of Force.”


End file.
